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BOSTON. 

HENRY HOYT. 


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Cim’^i Sister: 


OE, 


A WORD IN SEASON. 


MRS. MADELINE LESLIE, 

AUTHOB OF “TIM THE SCISSORS GRINDER;” “THE BOUND BOTj" 
“the prize BIBLE,” AND OTHER SABBATH SCHOOL BOOKS. 


\ 

“Them that honor me I will honor; and they that despise mo 
shall be. lightly esteemed.” 


BOSTON: 

HKnSTRY HOYT, 


KO. 9 CORNHILL. 





Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by 
HENRY HOYT, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 


/ 


PREFATORY NOTE. 


The subject of this sketch is called “ Tim’s 
Sister,” not because any natural relation ex- 
isted between them, but because Fanny and 
Tim possessed kindred spirits, both of them 
being richly imbued with the grace of God, 
active and^arnest Christians, each eminently 
successful in winning souls to Jesus. Their 
only relationship to one another was spir- 
itual, being an illustration of the Saviour’s 
words : “Whosoever shall do the will of my 
Father which is in heaven, the same is my 
brother, and sister, and mother.” Tim still 
lives to do good, while Fanny has entered 
into her heavenly rest. 


The Author. 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

Early Trials 9 

CHAPTER ir. 

Fanny a Cripple 18 

CHAPTER HI. 

Forgiveness 28 

CHAPTER IV. 

Fanny at School 39 

CHAPTER V. 

Mrs. Arnold’s Death 48 

CHAPTER VI. 

Fanny finding Friends 56 

CHAPTER Vir. 

The Strange Proposal 70 

CHAPTER VIII.- 

Fanny’s First Journey 82 

CHAPTER IX. 

Patience under Suffering 05 

6 


vi 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER X. 

The Happy Result 105 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Deluded Gambler 116 

CHAPTER XIL 

The Returning Prodigal 130 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Christ, the only Plea 144 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Triumph in Death 158 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Patient Nurse 168 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Fanny’s New Home 180 

• CHAPTER XVII. 

The Pastor’s Sorrow 189 

CHAPTER XVIIL 

The Worldly Professor 199 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Faults of Christians 212 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Aged Believer 225 

CHAPTER XXL . 

The Passionate Church Member 236 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The Passionate Husband 241 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Mrs. Alger’s Affliction 248 


CONTENTS. Vii 

CHAPTER XXIV". 

Honoring the Saviour 260 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The Pastor’s Letter 273 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Fanny’s Faithful Warning * 278 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

The Strange Mistake 287 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Visit to the Parsonage 299 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Conclusion 311 


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TIM’S SISTER; 


OR. 


A WORD IN SEASON. 


CHAPTEE I. 


EARLY TRIALS 


S ANNY ! Fanny ! Father has come 
home ! Where are you, Fanny ? ” 
There was no response to this re- 



peated call ; and Mr. Eay, after wait- 


ing a moment in a listening attitude, 
began to ascend the stairs, when he heard a 
voice at the back door : 

“ I do declare, that child is the torment of 
my life. Such a fuss as her father makes if 
one but speaks a cross word to her. Jest as 
soon as I’ve kindled my fire, I must go and 


10 


EARLY TRIALS. 


let her out afore he gets home, or he’U rave 
like a mad man.” 

She threw down an armful of wood, the 
noise of which prevented her hearing a quick 
bound up the stairs, or her husband passing 
along hastily through the upper hall. 

Once before this, had poor little Fanny 
been confined for some childish misdemeanor, 
in a dark, low closet under the eaves ; now he 
sprang thither, his heart burning with indig- 
nation. The door was buttoned on the out- 
side, and all was so quiet that for one instant 
his pulse stopped beating with the fear lest 
the close air had suflfocated her. 

She was seated on the floor, her cheek rest- 
ing in her dimpled hand, fast asleep. With 
one quick, eager glance, the father saw it all ; 
the large tears quivering on the eye-lashes, 
the marks of deep sorrow which had convuls- 
ed her breast ; and also the sweet smile which 
seemed to say, “ though I have grieved, I am 
happy now.” 


- TIM'S SISTER. 


U 


Yes, the stern man gazed until his own eyes 
were dim, but suddenly he clinched his hands 
as he murmured, “this treatment must and 
shall be stopped. Fanny, Fanny, wake up ! 
Father’s come home ; waTje up, my darling ! ” 

At this moment heavy steps were heard as- 
cending the stairs, and presently Mrs. Ray 
screamed out, “ Goodness me ! when did you 
come in, Mr. Ray ? I declare you’re enough 
to frighten an honest woman out of her wits, 
stealing upon one so. Well, Fanny, now 
your father’s let you out, I hope you’ll be- 
have.” 

The husband and father turned upon her 
angrily, but as he felt the touch of those soft 
arms around his neck, he forcibly restrained 
himself, and merely saying, “ Come, Fanny, 
father will protect you now,” carried her into 
the spare bed-room and locked the door. 

Scarcely knowing what he did, he placed 
the child gently in a* chair, and began to pace 
the floor. A dreadful tumult was raging in 


12 


EARLY TRIALS. 


his breast, and quite unconsciously to himself, 
his anger found vent in words. 

“ Only one year to-day since my poor Fran- 
ces died. Yes, she died blessing me for mak- 
ing her life so happy ; but God has cursed me 
with a wife, whom I cannot love. Fool, fool, 
that I was, to believe that she would ever be a 
mother to my poor motherless Fanny. Oh, 
how I have been deceived ! ” 

He had quite forgotten the presence of his 
child, and was startled as a soft voice called, 
“ father, I love you ; and I’ll try to be a good 
girl.” 

“ You are good, — ^you’re the only comfort 
that is left to me,” he cried, straining her to 
his heart. 

“ And wont you look in that dreadful way 
any more ? It makes me frightened, father.” 

“ What did she put you in there for?” was 
the quick response. 

Fanny’s eyes fell, and a bright flush spread 
all over her face — “I was in the garden, and 


xm’s SISTER. 


18 


she called me to bring in a basket of chips, 
and I caught my foot in the mat, and they all 
went on her clean floor.” 

His face was sterner than ever, and he was 
about to give utterance to his anger, when he 
caught the expression of her large wistful 
eyes, and checked himself. 

“ When she put me in there, I was afraid 
of rats, ’cause she said they’d come and eat 
me all up ; but after I prayed, then I wasn’t 
angry ; I was only sorr}% and I fell asleep, 
and you see the rats didn’t come at all.” 

The features of Mr. Eay’s countenance 
worked convulsively, as he remembered who 
had taught his child to pray. To hide his 
emotion, he kissed her again and again. Pres- 
ently, when he could command his voice, he 
said , “ You were right , my dear . Your mother 
used to pray ; and I know she always found 
comfort in prayer.” 

His voice was so tender that it filled her 
heart with joy, and she exclaimed. 


14 


EAKLY TRIALS. 


“ If you’ll please to kneel down, father, I’ll 
pray for you too. I guess it will make you 
feel a good deal better.” 

He yielded to her wish simply because it 
was such, but was so much moved by her sim- 
ple words, that he bowed his head on his 
breast, and wept as he had not done for many 
a day. 

With folded hands and closed eyes, she 
said : 

O, my good God! I asked you to take 
care of me in the dark closet, and you did. I 
thank you for it. I ask you to love my fath- 
er, just as you used to love my dear mother, 
before she died and went to heaven ; because 
I expect to go there before a great while, and 
I shall not want to leave him here alone. 
Will you please, good God, to make him feel 
sorry when he’s been angry, just as you did 
me, and help me to keep my promise to be a 
good girl, and mind what my new mother tells 
me, for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.” 


Tim’s sister. 


15 . 

When they arose from her short prayer, 
Fanny was almost frightened at the violence 
of her father’s emotions. She took her tiny 
handkerchief and tried to wipe away his tears, 
while he, for the first time in his life, breathed 
a petition for himself : 

“ O God, help me to live so that I may be 
prepared to leave the trials of this world and 
join my blessed wife in heaven.” 

His feelings were softened and subdued so 
that, when shortly after, he obeyed the sum- 
mons to tea, his wife who had prepared her- 
self for a storm of reproaches, found him un- 
usually quiet. 

At the table, she helped Fanny so gener- 
ously to her favorite cake, that the child, after 
an earnest look in her face, said softly, “ I’m 
sorry I spilt the chips over your clean floor.” 

Mrs. Kay frowned as she darted a quick 
glance at her husband, but except a slight 
twitching about the mouth, he took no notice 
of what Fanny said, and she busied herself in 
pouring the tea. 


16 


EAKLY TRIALS. 


After supper, Mr. Eay left the house, tak- 
ing Fanny with him, for a walk. But he did 
not talk with her as usual, and only for an 
occasional pressure of her hand, she would 
have thought herself forgotten. But in truth, 
his mind was too agitated for conversation ; 
he was r^evolving many plans for her benefit. 
Wholly unfitted as he felt himself to be, to 
fulfil his promise to his dying Frances, to train 
up their child to love and honor her Saviour, 
he asked himself, ‘ ‘ Can I bear to part with 
her ; to place her where she would be thus 
taught ? Could I live on day after day, with- 
out seeing her who is all that reminds me of 
what I have lost?” 

The hour for Fanny to retire to bed came, 
and yet this question was not decided. They 
returned to the house, when he as usual went 
with her to her chamber, and saw her laid in 
her little cot, listened mechanically to her form 
of prayer, and then left her to walk up and 
down the street until a late hour. Oh, how 


•Ti:.l’S SISTER. 


]7 

many times during after years did he regret 
that his decision to send her to her maternal 
grandmother, was not then made I 


CHAPTER n. 


FANNY, A CRIPPLE. 



^ BOUT nine months after the decease of 
Mrs. Ray, the family with whom her 
husband and little girl had boarded, 
was broken up, and it became necessa- 
ry for him to resume hous§-keeping. 
Sarah Raymond was highly recommended as an 
excellent person to take care of his family. 
She was a capable, active woman, member of 
an evangelical church in the place, and reput- 
ed to be ver}^ fond of children. 

The latter trait was the inducement with 
Mr. Ray to hire her, and so truly did she 
seem attached to the sweet little motherless 
Fanny, as she lovingly called her, that in less 
than two months after she first came to them, 
Mr. Ray consented to the wishes of his nu- 


Tim’s sister. 


ly 

merous friends, and gave her the legal title of 
mother to his child. 

Scarcely a week had passed before he would 
have given all he was worth to be free from 
this new tie. He found that for purposes of 
her own, his wife had assumed a character to- 
tally unlike her real one ; that now she had 
thrown aside the mask, she was coarse and 
harsh in feeling toward him, while toward 
his child, she was irritable and even cruel. 

As it was principally in defence of her 
rights, hard words had arisen between them, 
Mrs. Kay grew to be jealous of her influence, 
and at last really to dislike her, and took ev- 
ery opportunity to vent her ill-will. 

The night following Fanny’s confinement in 
the closet, Mr. Ray talked a lolig time with 
his wife upon the folly and wickedness of her 
conduct. He represented to her that she was 
we^ming his afiection, and that if she continu- 
ed in her course, he fully intended to leave 
he/, and join his brother in the West. 


20 


FAJrNY, A CRIPPLE. 


This threat was so effectual, that for a week 
or two her treatment of Fanny was all that he 
felt he had a right to expect, though far differ- 
ent from what he had hoped previously to his 
marriage. 

About this time, the little girl wsls made 
very happy by an invitation to a birth-day 
party of one of her friends. Mrs. Eay grum- 
bled some at the extra work it would cause 
her to prepare the child’s clothes ; but as her 
father insisted she should not only go, but be 
neatly dressed, there was no other course for 
her, but to comply with his wishes. 

On the afternoon in question, Mr. Eay staid 
an hour after dinner from his work to see and 
enjoy Fanny’s delight at the expected visit. 
He saw her dressed in white, her wavy hair 
parted smoothly from her forehead, and then 
went out to purchase a sash of blue ribbon, 
intending afterwards to leave her at the ap- 
pointed place. 

To the expectant, impatient little girl, the 


Tim’s sister. 


21 


minutes seemed like hours. She ran to the 
gate, then back again, remembering that 
she had still to bring her doll from the shelf, 
ill the best room. She ran up stairs singing 
gaily, pushed a cricket into the closet, mount- 
ed the lower shelf ; but just as she had reach- 
ed the doll, her foot slipped, and down she 
fell, tearing a great rent in her dress on a 
projecting nail. Her cry of fright brought 
her step-mother quicldy to the scene. 

“You naughty, wicked girl ! ” she exclaim- 
ed, as soon as she saw the condition of the 
frock. “You tore it on pm^pose; I Imow 
you did, just to make^ me work. I’ll soon 
cure you of such tricks,” and catching the 
child by the shoulder, she shook her violent- 
ly, pulling her along roughly, toward the 
door. ‘ ‘ There, you wicked child ! ” she shout- 
ed, as she stopped for want of breath, “ let 
me see if you’ll dare to do so again ; ” then 
pushing her from the room, she caught up the 
doll and thrust it into a drawer. One mo- 


22 


FANNY, A CKIPPLE. 


ment more, and the sound of a heavy fall 
down the steep stairs, followed by a piercing 
scream, caused her heart to beat with terror. 

Dizzy and faint with the shaking, Fanny 
had tried to reach the stairs, but unable to 
sustain herself, fell from top to bottom. 
There she lay apparently senseless, when her 
father came hastily up the path from the gate, 
exclaiming m a loud, cheerful voice, 

“ Here’s your sash, Fanny. Come, I must 
be off.” 

His scream of terror as he saw her lying 
senseless on the carpet — his loud angry tones 
as he demanded of his wife the meaning of 
the scene, were all unnoticed by the poor girl. 
But when he lifted her gently from the floor, 
she moaned as if in great pain. 

“ I didn’t do it ; she fell down stairs. Ask 
her, if you don’t believe me. She went up 
for her doll,” repeated Mrs. Ray, crying from 
fright, — “ perhaps she isn’t hurt much, per- 
haps she’s only fainted.” 



THE CASUALTY.- P. 22 




Tim’s sistek. 


23 


“ This is no time to talk about that,” said 
Mr. Ray, sternly, and growing very pale about 
the mouth. “ I have accused you of nothing. 
Open the door of the front room, and then 
send, or go for the doctor, for so, God help- 
ing me, I will never leave her with you 
again.” 

Poor little Fanny ! Through all the long 
afternoon and evening, during which she had 
anticipated so much pleasure, she lay moan- 
ing feebly, as two physicians bent anxiously 
over her, endeavoring to ascertain the extent 
of the injuries she had sustained. 

During this time, Mr. Ray sat stern and si- 
lent, only when his wife, pale and frightened, 
appeared at the door, he peremptorily order- 
ed her from the room. Putting a violent con- 
straint upon his feelings, he watched closely 
every word and motion of the physicians. 
When they found that the hip was broken in 
the socket, he saw the quick glance they ex- 
changed, and the sorrowful shake of the head, 


24 


FANNY, A CRIPPLE. 


of their own family doctor, who had known 
and loved little Fanny ever since she drew her 
first breath. He understood, though they did 
not intend it, the increased tenderness of 
their tones, as they said — “ Poor little crea- 
ture, it will be a sad thing for her.” When 
they tmmed from the bed, after having done 
all that could be done for her present comfort, 
he knew as well as if they had told him, that 
his precious little Fanny, his poor motherless 
child, was a cripple for life. 

Under the influence of a powerful anodyne, 
the child slept, and taking advantage of this 
opportunity, Mr. Eay went down stairs, pass- 
ed the table upon which his wife had placed 
the supper, unlocked the closet, poured a cup 
half full of whiskey, kept for purposes of med- 
icine, and then turning to his wife, said in a 
hard, cold voice, “ Now I want an explana- 
tion of this.” 

“ I know you think I threw her down,” she 
answered, beginning to cry again. “ It’s hard 
you wont believe me.” 


TBI’S SISTER. 


25 


“ Tell what did happen. Her arm was 
pinched, and — but you shall have a chance 
to explain.” 

His eye flashed as she had never seen it be- 
fore. In the midst of her tears she confessed 
that she had been in a passion, and shaken 
Fanny severely, and that she pushed her to 
the door, “ but as sure as I’m alive,” she add- 
ed earnestly, “ I did not mean to hurt her so, 
and I’m really sorry for her.” 

Mr. Ray turned his pale face toward her 
with a sneer, as he retorted, 

‘ ‘ Yv"hen you’ve made my only child a crip- 
ple for life, it’s poor consolation to say you’re 
sorry.” 

Without another word he walked up stairs 
to the bed where poor Fanny lay unconscious 
of her sufierings, while her father gave him- 
self up to a perfect abandonment of grief. 

Day after day passed ; the doctor came and 
went, and still the father kept his unwearied 
watch by the bed side of the patient sufferer. 


2G 


FANNY, A CRIPPLE.' 


Even the good physician who had known him 
for many years had not expected to see so 
much tenderness as he now exhibited. At 
any hour of the day or night, at the slightest 
call from that feeble voice he was ready to 
raise her gently, to hold the cup to her parch- 
ed lips, or soothe her by stories from the 
Bible, made familiar to both by the frequent 
repetition of them from the sainted mother. 

But toward his offending wife he maintain- 
ed the most perfect indifference ; indeed he 
actually ignored her existence, passing the 
few moments occupied at his meals in pro- 
found silence. 

Sometimes this seemed to Mrs. Bay a trial 
greater than she could endure. In vain were 
all the most tempting viands placed before 
him ; in vain she exerted herself to the utmost 
to prepare the few articles of diet ordered by 
the physician for little Fanny ; not one word 
of praise, not one look even of commendation 
did they elicit from the hard, stern man whom 


TIM’S SISTER. 


I 


27 


she called her husband. Conscience too 
loudly reproached her for her conduct toward 
the lovely child, and she felt that she would 
sacrifice a great deal for one word of forgive- 


ness. 


CHAPTER m. 


FORGIVENESS . 



^HREE months later let us look in 
again upon Fanny. She is seated 
in a large stuffed chair, with a little 
table drawn close up in the front 
of her. In her hands she holds a 
crotchet needle and some high-colored wors- 
teds, but her face is eagerly fixed upon the 
countenance of an old lady, who, with an 
open Bible before her is endeavoring to win 
her beloved grandchild to the feet of the Sav- 
iour so precious to her own heart. 

On one side of the room, but seated so 
that his face is shaded from view, sits Mr. 
Ray, who accompanied Fanny to her new 
home as soon as she was able to be removed 
with safety, and has never yet left her. He is 


Tim’s sister. 


29 


now apparently absorbed in the contents of a 
book lying on a table near him, but the vary- 
ing emotions depicted on his countenance 
prove that he loses not a word of the conver- 
sation. 

Many and earnest have been the discussions 
between him and this aged relation in respect 
to the duty he owes his wife. He contends 
that she has forfeited all claim to his affection 
or support. She urges that the solemn vows 
which have passed between them cannot be 
made light of. 

On this account the subject this day chosen 
by Mrs. Arnold was peculiarly fitted to in- 
terest her son-in-law. The chapter read was 
the twenty-third of Luke, containing that 
most precious assurance of Christ’s readiness 
to forgive his enemies, “Father, forgive 
them ; for they know not what they do.” 

“ How trifiing and insignificant seem the 
oflences we commit against each other,” she 
continued “ compared with those which our 


30 


FORGIVENESS. 


blessed Lord so readily forgave. His love 
for us is so great that the moment we turn to 
him with desire for pardon it is granted us. 
There is only one condition mentioned in the 
Bible, “If ye forgive men their trespasses, 
your heavenl}^ Father will also forgive you : 
But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, 
neither will your Father forgive your tres- 
passes.” 

“ Oh I wish,” cried Fanny,” “ there was 
some one for me to forgive, but everybody is 
so kind to me, I — ” 

“Do you forget that you have a mother 
living?” inquired Mr. Kay, starting up and 
standing before her. 

“No, indeed,” was the smiling reply. “ I 
printed a letter to her yesterday, and I pray 
for her every morning and every night.” 

He turned suddenly and left the room. 
When he re-entered it an hour or two later, 
he came dressed for a journey. 

“ Fanny,” said he, “you have conquered 


TIM’S SISTER, 


31 


your father. I have made up my mind to i*e- 
turn home. Once every month I shall come 
to see you for the present, and shall write 
you very often.” 

Tears gushed to the young girl’s eyes. 
She covered her face, and for a few moments 
seemed quite overcome. 

“Are you sorry, my dear?” asked hei 
grandmother. 

“ Oh, no indeed ! I am not wholly sorry ; 
I am glad because I know he ought to go ; 
he has been with me a great while. But what 
shall I do without you, father? Who will 
read to me and make pretty pictures on my 
slate, and do all the kind things you have 
done ? I ought to be more glad, but its very 
hard.” v' 

“Well, my child, you shall decide for me. 
K you say so, I will unpack my trunk and re- 
main longer.’^ 

She wiped away her tears, glanced alter- 
nately at him and at her grandmother’s 


32 


FORGIVENESS. 


anxious face, and then said, resolutely, “ I 
want you to go, and carry my letter. You 
wont see any more tears from me.” 

When seated in the cars, he ventured to 
open the little epistle which was as follows : 

“ Dear Mother, 

“ I am able to sit up now, and am learning to 
make houses and ponds on the slate;' It is very 
pleasant to have father here with me ; but I can’t 
help thinking of you staying there all alone. 
Grandmother thinks he will go soon. She says 
this is to be my home for a long time if it pleases 
God to spare her life ; but whenever I go to live 
with you, I shall endeavor to be a good girl. I am 
trying every day to do what is right because I have 
begun to love the Saviour, and Grandma says when 
children are good and kind, he is pleased and it 
honors him. I pray for you every night. 

“ Yom‘ little Fanny.” 

The lady occupying the seat by the side of 
jMr. Eay in the cars, was somewhat surprised 
to see with what interest the reserved man 
read and re-read that little note, and at last 
how many tears were dropped upon it as he 


TDl’S SISTER. 


33 


carefully folded the paper and replaced it in 
his pocket-book. 

After her father left, Mrs. Arnold invited a 
little girl, the child of one of her neighbors, 
to come in frequently and amuse Fanny, but 
notwithstanding tliis and all the kind atten- 
tions from her grandmother and the faithful 
Bessie who lived with them, the poor child 
pined for her father. She had become so ac- 
customed during these long months to have 
him near her anticipating every wish, that it 
was the greatest trial she had yet known to 
be deprived of his society. 

One morning, when she looked unusually 
pale, her grandmother inquired, “ what are 
you thinldng about, my love ? ” 

“About father,” said the child, tears 
trembling on her eyelashes. “ I know he 
misses me and needs me at home.” 

“ Shall I write and tell him you had rather 
not act as he thinks best ; that you cannot be 
contented where he has seen fit to place you ; 


34 


FOKGIVENESS. 


that the trials your heavenly Father has visit- 
ed you^'with are greater than you can en- 
dure?” 

“Oh, Grandma I no indeed. It would 
grieve him so, I would not have him know it 
for anything.” 

‘ ‘ Do you suppose he would be better pleas- 
ed to think his little girl was trying to be 
cheerful and contented, striving to fit herself 
to be useful to him when God restores her to 
health?” 

Fanny's face was covered with smiles as she 
answered, “ yes, ma'am, I think he would ad- 
mire to hear that.” 

“ Well, my dear, you know the Saviour 
looks into your heart, and knows every feel- 
ing cherished there. We will suppose he 
says, ‘ here is a child for whom I shed my 
blood. I gave her a praying mother and a 
fond, loving father. I have surrounded her 
with blessings ever since she was born, and 
if she has had some trials they were no more 


Tm’S SISTEK. 


35 


than I thought for her good. Lately she has 
begun to love me, and I want her to show 
to others around- her ; to her father and her 
young companions what a blessed thing it is 
to love me and enjoy my favor. I want her 
to let her light shine so that others may be 
won to love me too. I want her always to 
remember one verse in the Bible and act up- 
on it as long as she lives. It is this, ‘ Them 
that honor me I will honor, and they that de- 
spise me shall be lightly esteemed.’ ” 

Fanny looked very thoughtful while her 
grandmother was spealdug, and remained so 
lost in thought that Mrs. Arnold resumed her 
sewing in silence. At length the child’s face 
brightened, as she exclaimed, 

“ Grandma, I do want to honor the Sav- 
iour, but I thought while I was sick, confined 
to this chair, I couldn’t. I mean I haven’t 
much strength, you know, and you and Bessie 
have to wait upon me. Mustn’t I stop until 
I am well before I honor him ? ” 


36 


FORGIVENESS. 


“No, my dear, few little girls have so 
good an opportunity to honor him as you have 
now. If you were well and able to run about 
as you were before you fell, it would not be 
strange that you should be cheerful, grateful 
and obliging; but now that you are, and 
probably will be for a long time debarred 
from active enjoyments, if you can by God’s 
grace keep your heart from murmuring and 
repining ; if you can feel that God loves you, 
and sent this affliction upon you for your 
profit; if from the heart, with sweet sub- 
mission you can say, ‘ it is the Lord, let him 
do what seemeth good in his sight ; shall we 
receive good at the hand of God and shall we 
not receive evil?’ or like the Shunamite wo- 
man, when her only child was taken from her 
can say, ‘it is well ;’ if you can show your young 
companions, that though it would be very 
pleasant for you to run about and enjoy the 
fresh air as they do ; yet you can be cheerful 
and contented when your heavenly Father 


•TEVfS SISTER, 


37 


sees fit to aifiict you, then you will honor him 
and honor your Saviour, and he will assuredly 
honor you with his love and favor.” 

“ I will try to do so,” was the low re- 
sponse. 

It may he in that case, that God would 
honor you by making you the means of 
winning your friends to Christ. If they 
should ask, ‘ how can you be so contented, 
Fanny, having to stay in this room day after 
day, and being moved only from the easy chair 
to the bed, and from the bed to the easy 
chair,’ and you should be able to reply : 

‘ It is hard, but I know it’s best for me, 
because my heavenly Father has ordered it, 
and he helps me to bear it patielitly ; ’ would 
not they think there was a comfort in religion 
which they would wish to enjoy, and would 
they not be likely to strive after the same 
peace ? ” 

That night the little girl could not sleep, 
but lay reflecting upon all that her grand- 


58 


FORGIVENESS* 


mother had said. She confessed with tears 
that by her murmurings and complaints she 
had dishonored the dear Saviour whom she 
was striving to love. She feared she had of- 
fended him, so that he would withdraw his 
favor from her. Then she lifted up her heart 
in prayer that this sin and all her sins might 
be forgiven, and grace given her so to live 
that Christ might be honored, and her dear 
companions won to his service. 

After this a sweet peace filled her mind ; 
she repeated all the verses and h3nnns she had 
learned sitting at the side of her mother, and 
with a heart full of love and gratitude she fell 
quietly asleep. 


CHAPTER IV. 


FANNY AT SCHOOL. 

AM sorry we cannot stop to describe 
many events which occurred during 

f Fanny’s long confinement, nor the 
struggles by which she overcame her 
murmurs when at length she under- 
stood that her lameness was for life. It cost 
her frequent sharp pangs and many bitter 
tears before she could say in view of her afflic- 
tion-, “the Lord gave, and the Lord hath 
taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord.” 

But Fanny soon found that she was not left 
alone to conquer her great enemy. In the 
midst of her cries for help, she often experi- 
enced aid, as if an arm of Almighty strength 
were placed about her, and then songs of 
victory burst from her lips. 



40 


FANNY AT SCHOOL. 


These inward conflicts greatly afiected her 
health so that it was not until nearly a year 
and a half after her fall that she was able to 
attend school. 

She could not walk without the aid of 
crutches which her father had contrived for 
her with the utmost care, the weight of the 
lame side coming upon a rest in the crutch 
just below the knee. 

It was a dreadful trial to the poor cripple 
to be ushered at once into the presence of 
strangers, but she was most agreeably sur- 
prised to find they were all friendly, even 
eager to do her a favor. Her story was well 
known throughout the village, and many 
hearts beat warm with sympathy for her help- 
less condition. They were well aware, too, 
that Fanny had given her heart to the Sav- 
iour, and some of them could bear testimony 
to the consistency of her daily conduct. 
Others thought when a young girl became 
pious she considered it wrong to laugh or 


TiM’S SISTER. 


41 


enjoy life. These were greatly astonished, 
to see that Fanny, lame though she was, en- 
tered into the sports at recess with a zeal and 
enthusiasm equal to any of them. Indeed in 
a short time she became the life of every 
game, sitting sometime in the midst of her 
companions planning and animating their 
sports, but more often on the ‘-steps of the 
school house where her musical laugh echoed 
through the whole grounds. 

There were two or three of the larger girls 
who watched her closely : “I don’t see,” said 
one of them, “ that she is any different from 
us. We are just as pious as she is.” But 
before they had known Fanny many weeks 
they confessed to themselves and to each 
other that there was a governing principle 
about her that they were not possessed of. 
Indeed, Fanny’s truthfulness and. conscien- 
tiousness in rendering in her reports to the 
teacher, her cheerful, even temper, her readi- 
ness to oblige, prepared the way for her affec- 


42 


FANNY AT SCHOOL. 


tioiiate efforts to lead them to the Saviour 
whom she loved. And thus, even in her 
school days she was enabled to honor Christ. 

At the age of fifteen she made a public pro- 
fession of religion in company with several 
of her young friends, one of whom ascribed 
her interest in serious things to the consistent 
character of her lame schoolmate. 

From this time until she was seventeen, 
she continued to attend school, the last year 
at an academy, where she made rapid ad- 
vances in the various branches to which she 
gave her attention. She wrote with great 
ease and fluency both prose and verse. She 
had never learned instrumental music, 
but possessed a voice of great power and 
sweetness. This talent she early consecrated 
to God, and many could bear testimony 
that the fervor with which she sang the songs 
of Zion, added much to their devotion. 

In appearance the crippled girl was rather 
below the common height, but during the 


Tim’s sister. 


4 ?> 

last year her general health had become so 
confirmed, that she had grown both taller and 
stouter than during any previous year since 
her accident. She had now become so much 
accustomed to the use of her crutches that 
they occasioned her but little inconvenience. 
Indeed her companions often used to say with 
a laugh, that notwithstanding her lameness, 
Fanny could cross the common on the way to 
school quicker than any of them. 

There were ivarm discussions among her 
mates with regard to her looks, those who 
knew and loved her best maintaining that she 
was by far the handsomest girl in town ; 
others that her nose was too aspiring and her 
mouth too wide for perfect beauty. Still all 
a£:reed that there was a singular charm about 
her earnest, trutlxful eyes, closely shaded by 
their sweeping lashes, and that there was a 
loftiness and purity of expression in her whole 
countenance not often seen. 

“ If I had a sister I would rather she should 


44 


FA^NY AT SCHOOL. 


resemble Fanny Ray,” remarked a young man 
after being introduced to her, ‘ ‘ than any 
young lady I ever saw. One glance assures 
you she is true to herself and would be so in 
all the relations of life.” 

Though Fanny still resided with her grand- 
mother, yet her father allowed her a liberal 
sum for the supply of all her wants. She was 
always dressed neatly and in good taste ; in- 
deed, by her companions she was regarded 
quite as a model in this particular. When she 
was not more than fifteen, she commenced 
cutting and fitting her own dresses, and so 
well did she accomplish this, that no one in 
the school was more tidily arranged than she 
was. 

As her grandmother’s eyes were failing 
she soon assumed the entire care of the old 
lady’s wardrobe, often sitting up^uite late at 
night to finish a garment she thought Mrs, 
Arnold might need while she was at school. 

During all this time her father had been 


Tim’s sister. 


45 


constant in his visits to her, though of late 
years not so frequent as at first. He had be- 
come gloomy and careworn, so that if her 
grandmother’s infirmities had not greatly in- 
creased, Fanny would have felt it her duty to 
return home and endeavor to lighten his bur- 
den. Of his wife he seldom spoke to her, 
but she knew from her grandmother that her 
temper was a great trial to him, and that he 
had' never ceased to regret the haste with 
which he had assumed this new tie. 

When on one or two occasions Fanny had 
alluded to her wish to be with him more con- 
stantly, he expressed himself with great de- 
cision, that by his consent she and her step- 
mother should never reside under the same 
roof. 

Lately, Fanny had thought him more re- 
served and gloomy than ever. Her heart 
yearned over him, and many hours when 
her grandmother thought her sleeping, were 
passed in supplicating the throne in his be- 


46 


FANNY AT SCHOOL. 


half. She felt a natural hesitancy in talking 
with him ; hut she could not rest until she 
had told him how earnestly she longed that 
in his trials he might experience the comforts 
of religion. She watched her opportunity, 
and when he was about to leave after one of 
his regular visits, slipped a small envelope in- 
to a bundle of shirts she had been making for 
him. It enclosed the following note. 

“ ]My dearly loved Father, — 

‘‘ I fLel quite certain you ^yill excuse your lit- 
tle Fanny for addressing you on the most impor- 
tant of all subjects, the subject of religion. 
When I remember how my dear mother used to 
pray that we might all meet at God’s right hand 
in the last great day, I cannot help praying, too, 
that 3'ou and I may be prepared to follow her to 
that bright world. 

“ Dear father, 3^11 have been veiy, nery kind 
to me; I am sure no child ever had a more 
tender, loving and indulgent parent, but some- 
times as I lie in bed at night, the question occurs 
to me, ‘ is he a Christian? If his summons were 
to come suddenly would he be read3’ to meet it?’ 
I think, dear father, if I could be assured that this 


Tim’s sister. 


47 


was the case : if I could know that you were try- 
ing to live near to God, and were in the enjoyment 
of his favor, I should be the happiest creature in 
the world. Oh, you cannot imagine the peace 
that flows into the heart when one resigns himself 
into the hands of his heavenly Father ! All the 
cai’es and trials of this life seem as nothing when 
compared with the joy which fills the soul. 

‘ Just as I am, without one plea, 

But that thy blood was shed for me. 

And that thou bidst me come to thee 
0, Lamb of God, I come, I come ! 

Just as I am, though tossed about. 

With many a conflict, many a doubt. 

Fightings within and fears without, 

0, Lamb of God, I come, I come ! ’ 

“ Will you not, dear father, adopt this as the 
language of your heart? 

“ Your loving, praying daughter. 


Fanny.” 


CHAPTER V. 


MRS. Arnold’s death. 

T was near the close of the summer 
term, the last one Fanny expected 
to attend school, that she was one day 
hastily summoned home in consequence 
of her grandmother’s sudden illness. 

Upon entering the chamber she found the 
physician bending over the bed, where lay 
the old lady, her face drawn one side, her 
loud unnatural breathing, all that proved her 
to be still living. 

She was inexpressibly shocked, and hurried 
from the room to give vent to her grief. 

After a few moments a hand was laid gent- 
ly on her shoulder ; “I did not expect this of 
you, Fanny,” said the kind voice of the phy- 



Tim’s sister. 


49 


sician, “ You must be calm for your grand- 
motber’s sake. She needs your services.” 

The young girl started to her feet ; “ What 
can I do? Will she live, then?” she eagerly 
inquired. 

The doctor replied, “ She has had a severe 
shock of paralysis. I will not say she cannot 
survive, but in all human probability she will 
not live many days, perhaps not hours.” 

Fanny wept. 

“It will be a glorious exchange for her,” 
added the good man. “ She has had her 
lamp trimmed and burning ready to meet the 
bridegroom. The summons has come ; and 
she will go forth joyfully to meet him.” 

“ But will she not be conscious?” Fanny 
asked in a trembling voice. “ Will she not 
recognize me and give me her parting bless- 
ing?” 

“It is frequently the case that conscious- 
ness retmms just before death. But now you 
must summon all your fortitude, my poor 


50 


MRS. Arnold’s death. 


girl, for with you I must leave my direc- 
tions.” 

“ In one minute I will be there.” 

She flew into her own little chamber, and 
there sought help and strength in this her 
sorest hour of need. Presently when she 
joined the physician at the door of her grand- 
mother’s chamber, there was an expression 
upon her countenance that told of the eleva- 
tion within. 

Under the influence of the powerful reme- 
dies, the loud breathing had nearly ceased, 
and the pulses began to beat more regularly. 
Fanny was little used to siclmess of any land, 
and cast her eyes from one to another in a 
helpless desire to do something for her grand- 
mother’s relief. As they had not been able 
to force any medicine between her teeth, there 
was nothing to be done except to remove, as 
often as might be necessary, the drafts upon 
the feet, and to continue the vigorous chafing 
of the limbs. 


Tim’s sister. 


51 


The poor girl’s tears fell fast upon the dear 
hand which had so lovingly ministered to her 
wants, now cold and lifeless. She kissed it 
again and again, while her heart was lifted up 
in prayer that if possible this beloved relation 
might be restored to her. 

One of the neighbors volunteered to remain 
with Bessie through the night, but Fanny in- 
sisted that it was her privilege to take care of 
her grandmother. “ There is nothing,” she 
urged, “that I cannot do. If I need any 
help I will call you.” 

As the doctor had predicted, the conscious- 
ness of reason beamed in the eye of Mrs. Ar- 
nold for a short time before she expired. She 
recognized Fanny and made a great effort to 
speak, but in vain. Bessie was hastily sum- 
moned from a couch in the next room, and 
understood from the painful signs of her mis- 
tress that she wished papers lying in a drawer 
to which she pointed. These the old lady 
placed in the hand of Fanny, vuth a glance of 


52 


MRS. Arnold’s death. 


such tender affection that the poor girl need- 
ed all her fortitude not to be wholly overcome. 
She then made a feeble wave with her hand 
to show that she was done with earth, and 
raised her eyes as if in prayer. 

Fanny instantly fell on her knees by the 
bedside, and there in that solemn midnight 
hour, commended the dying soul to that 
gracious Friend, who has promised when we 
walk through the valley and shadow of death 
to be with us, that his rod and his staff’ shall 
comfort us. 

Even while she prayed the messenger came, 
and the waiting spirit took her glad leave of 
time, and silently departed to enter upon the 
untried scenes of eternity. 

Four days later, as Mr. Kay and his daugh- 
ter sat together after their return from their 
last sad offices for the dead, she put into his 
hand the will of her grandmother, by which, 
after a small legacy to the faithful Bessie, the 
entire property, consisting of the house and a 
few thousand dollars was conveyed to her. 


TIM’s SISTEK. 


53 


She was quite at a loss to account for the 
fervor with which her father, as he glanced 
hastily over the legal document, uttered the 
words, “ Thank God ! ” He leaned his head 
on his hands, but presently roused himself, 
and in a husky voice said,- ‘‘Now that you 
are secure from want, Fanny, I can have 
courage to tell you that I have lost all I am 
worth. I am a beggar.” 

She clasped her arms fondly about his neck, 
as she exclaimed with a smile, “But you 
shall not bo a beggar long, dear father. Ac- 
cept this first gift from your loving, grateful 
child. Oh, how happy I am that it is in my 
power to return some of your kindness ! ” 

Mr. Eay was deeply moved. For a time 
all his reserve vanished ; and he lavished up- 
on his daughter every fond caress which his 
heart had been treasuring up for her ; but no 
entreaties on her part could induce him to 
touch one cent of her property. 

“ No, no I ” said he, “ I care not for myself. 


54 


MRS. ARNOLD’S DEATH. 


Now that you are provided for I can meet re- 
verses with a bold front.” 

They then conversed about the future. It 

was Fanny’s earnest wish to return to N 

at once with her father. 

“ I think,” said she, “ that I know a family 
who would be glad to move here at once, and 
who would take good care of the place. They 
w^ould be glad of Bessie too, for they know 
how invaluable her services have been to dear 
grandma. Some of the articles of furniture I 
should like to keep, and the others could 
readily be disposed of at auction. Grandma 
was so well known and loved, that many 
would like some articles as a memento of her.” 

Mr. Eay listened in astonishment. He had 
heretofore considered his daughter as a mere 
child, helpless from her infirmity, to be cared 
for as a sacred treasure. Now he saw her 
calmly maldng her plans, which he could but 
acknowledge were wise ones, and assummg 
the office"‘of his comforter and adviser. 


Tim’s sister. 


55 


“Fanny,” said he, with glistening eyes, 
“You were naturally one of the most impul- 
sive children I ever saw. Where did you 
learn such self-control ? I dreaded to return 
from the funeral. I expected you would be 
overcome with grief.” 

“ I have met with a loss,” said Fanny, her 
lip quivering, “ which can never be made up 
to me. But now that she has gone to enter 
upon her eternal rest, I wish to bear in mind 
her teachings, and as far as I can, govern my- 
self by them. Now my first duty is to you, 
and if you will only consent to let me live 
with you, I hope you will find, dear father, 
that I shall prove myself not only an obedient 
but a loving child.” 

The next morning Mr. Ray wrote his wife 
that he should return home accompanied by 
Fanny, at the expiration of two weeks. 


i 


CHAPTER VI. 



fanny’s friends. 

^HE town of N — , was a flourishing 
place, containing about fourteen thou- 
sand inhabitants. The rehgious so- 
ciety with which Mr. Ray was con- 
nected, and with which church his 
wife had been a member, had within a year 
settled a new pastor — a young man, by the 
name of Sheldon, ardent in his profession, and 
exceedingly active in its pastoral duties. He 
had a wife and one child, two years old, at 
the time Fanny returned from S — . 

It was more than a year since Mr. Ray had 
been to church, but when he saw his daughter 
preparing to go, he would not allow her to 
enter a strange church alone, and therefore 
made haste to accompany her, in order to ward 


66 


Tim's sifter. 


57 


off as much as possible the annoyance and cu 
riosity he Imew her novel appearance would 
create. But as he turned from time to time 
to glance at her, as they made their way slow- 
ly through the streets, he could see nothing 
of the nervousness and fear which would be 
so natural on such an occasion. To be sure, 
there was a brilliant flush on her cheeks, for 
Fanny was human, and had had a great strug- 
gle with her pride, at the bare idea of encoun- 
tering so many curious and perhaps imperti- 
nent glances ; but in her small closet she had 
conquered, and now as her father gazed, he 
acknowledged to himself that religion must 
be a more powerful influence than ever he had 
imagined, since it could thus transform his 
timid little girl. 

“ Oh, Evarts ! did you notice that beautiful 
girl who came into church with crutches : ” in- 
quired Mrs. Sheldon, in an enthusiastic man- 
ner, as soon as they had started for home. 

“ Yes, my dear,” was the smiling reply ; “ I 


58 


FAXNi’S FRIEXDS. 


saw her and heard her too ; and if yon had 
not been so impatient to leave the slip, you 
would have been introduced to her, as I was.” 

“ Fm so sorry, but who is she? I never 
saw a more interesting countenance. What a 
pity she is lame. She looks distinguished, 
too, somehow ; and what a wonderful soprano 
she sings. I wish we could have her in our 
choir.” 

“ Possibly we may, for she has come home 
to reside. She is the daughter-in-law of that 
Mrs. Pay, in Elm-street, upon whom we call- 
ed some months ago. That was her father who 
was with her. I saAv he regarded her with 
uncommon tenderness.” 

“ Can it bo possible, Evarts, she is the one 
we heard had been injured for life by the 
spitefulness of her step-mother? There you 
see I was right again. I always am in my 
impressions of character; and you know I 
took a violent prejudice against that woman.’’ 

“And said you would never call again. 


Tim's sister. 


59 


Now you will be debarred the pleasure of IMiss 
Eay's acquaintance.” 

“No, indeed, I shall call at once. My 
promise only referred to Mrs. Eay herself. 
How I do pity her to be obliged to associate 
with so low minded a person.” 

“ If I do not mistake, she loves the services 
of the Sabbath,” rejoined Mr. Sheldon. “ She 
is a good hearer, at any rate.” 

Early Monday evening, Fanny was delight- 
ed to receive a call from her pastor. 

Mrs. Sheldon was even more favorably im- 
pressed than at church. In her deep mourn- 
ing dress, there was a peculiar call upon one’s 
sympathies in the earnest appealing look of 
those large gray eyes shaded so quickly with 
their long black lashes. Then her face, usual- 
ly so pale, was flushed with excitement, while 
her manners were so composed and yet child- 
like and artless. 

After expressing their sympathy iir her late 
affliction, Mr. Sheldon questioned her as to 


60 


fanny’s friends. 


her own hopes, and was delighted to meet 
with so ready a response. She frankly stated 
that she was connected with the churcli in S., 
and should deem it a privilege to remove her 
relation to N., and be under the pastoral care 
of Mr. Sheldon. She also confessed in an- 
swer to Mrs. Sheldon’s inquiries, that she had 
been accustomed to sing in church, and should 
be wdlling to join the choir here. 

When they rose to go, after a prolonged 
call, during which Fanny had received repeat- 
ed invitations to visit the parsonage frequent- 
ly and familiarly, with the hope she would be 
so contented in N., that she would not wish 
to leave it again, she replied, 

“If I am to be contented, I must have 
something to do. I miss the Christian com- 
panionship I enjoyed in my grandmother. I 
want to be doing something to honor my Sa- 
viour.” 

There was an earnestness in her manner, 
and a depth of feeling in her moistened eyes. 


Tim’s sister. 


61 


wliicli woke a thrill of joy in these Christian 
hearts. As they returned home, they thanked 
God for sending Fanny to them as a co-work- 
er in the cause to which they had devoted 
their lives. 

Little did they imagine, however, how much 
Fanny was destined to administer to their 
comfort. In a few weeks she was as much at 
homo in their own house as at her father’s. 
The sound of her crutches on the brick-walk 
up to the house, was the sign of rejoicing to 
every inmate of the parsonage. Even little 
Emma ran joyfully to meet aunty, who told 
her such funny stories, and sung her such 
beautiful songs. 

Tried almost beyond endurance by the con- 
stant annoyances to which she was subjected, 
and especially by witnessing the daily and 
hourly vexations which rendered her father’s 
life a burden, it was a most welcome relief to 
the poor girl to run away from all care, to the 
congenial atmosphere of the pastor’s house. 


62 


fanny’s feiends. 


There her piety was strengthened, and she 
was enabled to bear more calmly whatever af- 
flictions were in store for her. 

She ha<i gradually become aware that her 
father’s pecuniary aflfairs were in a sad condi- 
tion ; and she had repeatedly urged him to 
make use of at least part of her proj)erty that 
he might be able to start in business again. 

For his sake, she had borne many taunts 
from her step-mother, in silence, allusions to 
daughters living upon fathers, and not trying 
to exert themselves. One condition of her 
returning home with him being profound se- 
crecy with regard to her having received any 
property, Mrs. Eay was therefore not aware 
that the small sum her husband weekly gave 
her for house-keeping was what his daughter 
insisted on paying for her board. But now, 
as Fann}’^ saw him, pale and haggard, return- 
ing day after day, she once more urged him 
to accede to her wishes. 

“ I will only ask you to take what I can 


Tim’s sister. 


63 


well afford to lose, if worst should come to 
worst,” she said with a winning smile. “Oh, 
father ! ” she added affectionately, taking his 
hand, “ how little you know my heart. You 
refuse this trifling request because you think 
it might subject me to a sacrifice of comfort ; 
and yet you will not comply with those desires 
which would make me supremely happy. You 
must be aware, dearest father, that to see you 
bear the trials of life cheerfully, because they 
are ordered by a wise and holy God, — one 
who looks upon us with pity, as an earthly 
father does upon erring children, and chastens 
them for their good ; if I could be sure that 
you meekly submitted to your daily and hour- 
ly burdens because he sent them, I should 
welcome poverty. I could be cheerful in a 
hovel.” 

Mr. Eay slowly opened his pocket-book, 
took from it a neatly written note, and hold- 
ing it for a moment before her, said in a voice 
scarcely articulate, 


FAjS^KY’S frieyds. 


^64 

“ I have read that letter many times. It 
has saved me from — I cannot tell yon what I 
should have been without it ; but it has con- 
vinced me there is a God, and that there is 
truth in the Bible. Oh, my child ! I have 
found there is a difference between talking re- 
ligion and acting religion. What is the use 
of going to church with the pretence of serv- 
ing God whenever the meeting-house is open, 
if one is to serve the devil all the rest of the 
time ; aye, and compel others to serve him 
too,” ho added in a lower tone. 

“ Fal-de-ral!” called out Mrs. Bay, open- 
ing the door of the parlor abruptly. “ Fine 
times these. The kitchen isn’t good enough 
for some people to sit in. To my mind, Chris- 
tiaas had better act up to their profession, and 
not be so stuck up with pride and the vanities 
of this life.” 

Fanny’s cheeks flushed crimson, while her 
father started as was his wont on such occa- 
, sions, to leave the room ; but as he caught a 


Tim’s sister. 


65 


glimpse of his daughter’s distressed counte- 
nance, he turned upon his wife with a defiant 
air, exclaiming, “ You may say what you 
please to me, Mrs. Kay. It is a just punish- 
ment for my folly ; hut never wifi I allow any 
flings, recriminations, or reproaches, at my 
daughter, or at her religion.” 

He stopped, but seeing a scornful smile on 
her countenance, added in a loud, harsh tone, 
“You may as well know it now as any time, 
the property for which you married me, has 
all gone ; I am literally a bankrupt ; and but 
for means supplied me by that poor, abused 
girl, I and you might have starved.” 

Mrs. Ray sank into a chair, and extended 
her arms as if for help to bear this dreadful 
blow. 

“ And more than that, I have just refused 
the proflfer she has been urging upon me, of 
cash sufficient to set me up in business again. 
Why I have done so, you can easily tell, if 
you will listen for a moment to the reproaches 
^f your own conscience.” 


66 


fanny’s friends. 


Poor Fanny had sat with her face covered 
to conceal the tears which were trickling down 
her cheeks. She heard her father’s retreating 
footsteps, and her step-mother’s violent ex- 
clamations of mingled anger and disappoint- 
ment. She was profoundly astonished that 
Mrs. Kay had been left till now in ignorance 
of that which so nearly concerned her. She 
acknowledged to herself that although the con- 
duct of her step-mother was calculated to rouse 
her father’s anger, yet he might have pursued 
a milder course, and perhaps with better ef- 
fect on her temper. 

“Ob, that this unhappy contest might 
cease ! ” was her silent prayer. “ Oh that the 
dove of peace might brood over this house 
liold, and all the inmates be brought under its 
blessed influence ! ” 

“Now, Fanny Ray, I’ll tell you, I don’t be- 
lieve one word of what he has been saying. 
He’s is no more a beggar than I am, not a 
mite. He’s only aggravating me. You don’t 
know nothing what I’ve had to bear with that 


Tim’s sistek. 


67 


man. If it hadn’t been for my meetings and 
religious privileges, I shouldn’t have held out 
half the time. But if that’s his game, I’ll be 
up with him, that’s one comfort.” 

Fanny hastened to assure her that the fact ^ 
was too true ; that he had lost all his property. 

“ I was aware of it before I left S.,” she add- 
ed hastily, “ and after that nothing could pre- 
vent me from coming home so as to help him 
all that was in my power. I am very sorry 
he will not allow me to do what I wish. He 
has been a most indulgent father to me, and 
it would delight me to be able to repay him.” 

“ That’s true enough,” responded JMrs. Eay 
earnestly. She rose, walked across the room 
to the mirror, adjusted her cap, and then in- 
rather an awkward manner turning to Fanny, 
asked, “ how much is your ^property worth, 
now ? ” 

Fanny blushed as she recalled her father’s 
prohibition, and said quickly, “the business 
is not fully settled, I think. Father can tell 


68 


fanny’s fkiends. 


you better than I can ; but even if we are poor, 
it need not prevent our being happy. The 
world is to us just what we make it ; perhaps 
our heavenly Father has sent this trial upon 
us for our good. If we each determine to act 
our part well, how much we might enjoy.” 

The young girl was emboldened to say more 
than she had ever said, by the earnest gaze 
fixed upon her. A hope sprang up in her heart 
that this hour might be the beginning of bet- 
ter days ; but she was gTeatly disappointed 
when Mrs. Ray asked suddenly, 

“ Did you ever speak in a meeting, Fanny? 
Your talk* would sound real pretty there.” 

“No, I never did.” The young girl was 
humbled and cast down. She left the room, 
and presently her mother heard the pat-pat of 
her crutches as she went down fhe street. 

Approaching the window, she said to her- 
self, “ There, I’ll lose my guess if she hasn’t 
gone to the minister’s again.” - Then with a 
heavy sigh, “ well, if this doesn’t beat all.. 


Tim’s sister. 


69 


Who would have dreamed of his failing, and 
Fanny having property left to her. I must 
change my tactics right away. She’s simple, 
and I can get round her easy, if the old man 
don’t get scent of the game. I wonder if she 
gives the minister’s folks presents. ’Twould 
be a shame while her father and mother are 
suffering.” 


CHAPTER yn. 


THE STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


IHLE Mrs. Ray pursued her medi- 
jjlj-j- ^ tatious upon the fruitful subject so 
suddenly brought before her, and 
concocted her plans for the future, her 
daughter-in-law, unconscious of the 
designs on her good nature and on her purse, 
bent her steps toward a retired cottage where 
resided a young boy in the last stages of con- 
sumption. 

Calling for a moment at the grocer’s she 
purchased some oranges, and then went on 
endeavoring to calm her owm mind by a con- 
templation of the scene before her. 

On knocking at the door she was instantly 
recognized as the young lady who came before 
with the pastor’s wife, and was joyfully 


Tim’s sistee. 


71 


ushered into the common sitting room, where 
stretched on a low couch lay the object of her 
visit. 

His eye brightened as it met hers, and he 
extended his emaciated hand with so cordial 
a smile that she felt at once he was to be 
envied. 

After some questions about his health she 
asked, “ are you reconciled to your situation? 
Are you willing to lie here and suffer ? ” 

A brilliant flush for a moment beautified his 
pale face as he replied frankly, “ I would not 
change places with the President, nor with 
Squire Holland’s sons, who ride by on their 
fast horses every morning, nor with anybody 
you could name.” 

Fanny smiled. 

“ He used to be mighty fond of horses be- 
fore ho was taken sick,” remarked his mother 
with a sigh. 

“ I am now,” exclaimed the boy, whose 
name was Rufus. “ Mother lifts me up to 


72 THE STKAXGE PEOEOSAL. 

see them prance along so haughty ; I love to 
see them; but I should soon tire of that, 
while the happiness I enjoy in my Bible and 
in thinking of my Saviour will last forever. 
I don’t sleep very well,” he added, as she did 
not speak, “ and have abundant time to think. 
Oh, sometimes it does seem to me as if I 
could describe the peace and joy I feel, the 
blessedness of having Christ for my Friend, 

so that every body in N would want to 

secure it right off. Everything seems so dif- 
ferent when one knows he must soon die.” 

“ And have you tried to describe this hap- 
piness to your 3^oung friends ? Have you tried 
to honor your Saviour by exhibiting his love, 
and showing how willing it has made you to 
give up all for the sake of living with him ? ” 

“Yes, Miss, indeed he does nothing else,” 
urged his mother quickly. “ When his mates 
come in he talks his breath all away trying to 
persuade them to give up their hearts to 
Christ, while they are well, so that they (',an 


TIM’S SISTER. 


73 


have the comfort when they come to die, of 
feeling that they have done something for 
him.” 

' ‘‘That’s what troubles me more than any 
thing else about my sickness,” said Eufus ; 
“ When I think that I must die before I have 
an opportunity to do anything to show my 
Saviour I love him. Perhaps the minister 
told you what a gay, thoughtless fellow I was 
before I was sick ; now if I only had those 
early days to live over 'again, why just with 
the money I’ve spent for candy and toys that 
did me no good, I might have bought tracts ; 
you know a tract first led me to Jesus. Oh, 
I wish I had, and given- them to all the boys 
and girls I know ! ” 

“ Why, Rufus,” said Fanny, putting her 
hand on his head, “ you are just in the situa- 
tion to serve your Saviour. Every time your 
companions or friends come in to see you, if 
you show them that though life once seemed 
pleasant, yet you esteem it far better to go 


74 


THE STKANGE PROPOSAL. 


to Christ and be in his presence forever; 
If they see you bearing patiently pain and 
confinement because he sends it, — this will 
honor him in their eyes, and 3 ^ou remember 
the precious promise, ‘ them that honor me 
I will honor.’ ” 

“ Yes, I guess I do, that’s one of my favor- 
ite texts ; and this is another : ‘ Thou wilt 
keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stay- 
ed on thee.’ Some days when I can’t talk 
much, mother bolsters me up and I find a lot 
of ’em for her to read over to me. See how 
many marks I’ve put in.” He pointed to a 
Bible which lay on a table by him, where on a 
narrow slip of paper was penciled the particu- 
lar chapter and verse he thought suited to his 
own case. 

She opened to one marked John 14 : 12. 

“ This is a precious chapter,” she said, “ If 
you like I will read it through before I go.” 

When she closed the book he said softly, 
“ will you please to pray, too?” 


TIM’S SISTER, 


75 


Fanny hesitated; but one glance into his 
eager countenance decided her, and leaning 
forward toward his pillow she breathed forth 
her simple petitions for the youth so soon to 
exchange the trials of earth for the glories of 
heaven. She prayed, too, that his example 
might strengthen her in the path of duty ; and 
that they and all their friends might meet 
around the throne of God and join in songs of 
redeeming love forever and ever. 

She had scarcely resumed her bonnet before 
she heard a footstep in the entry, and with a 
light knock, Mr. Sheldon entered. 

Fanny was greatly embarrassed, but tried 
to cover her confusion by taking the oranges 
from her pocket. She thought Mr. Sheldon 
might consider it improper for her to offer 
prayer in the presence of a young man. 

“ I see I am quite too late,” remarked the 
gentleman, ' pleasantly ; “my rival, or col- 
league has done all that it was my privilege 
to do. Now, Rufus, you must rest, and I will 


76 


THE STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


come again. I will only ask one question, 
have you thought upon that subject?” 

“Yes, sir,” he answered with a beaming 
smile, “and she has been talking about it 
too. I hope you will come again. Miss, and 
I thank you for the oranges.” 

Mr. Sheldon only waited to whisper a few 
words to the youth as a subject for thought, 
and then hastened to overtake his young 
friend. 

‘ ‘ I hope you are going direct to the par- 
sonage,” he said with a peculiar smile. 

‘ ‘ Louisa has been watching the windows all 
the morning, and I could not persuade her to 
accompany me to see Eufus because she fear- 
ed you would come while she was out.” 

Fanny laughed as she said, “ I determined 
when I left home not to go there to-day. I 
am so inclined to stop when dear little Emma 
urges me so prettily. I intended to call upon 
old lady Weems.” 


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Tim’s sistee. 


77 


“Excuse me, but that is my destination 
this morning ; and I cannot consent to your 
ursurping the hearts of the old people what- 
ever you do with the young. No, Louisa is 
earnestly expecting you. But seriously,” he 
added, as he saw she looked perplexed, “I 
am very glad both for your sake and for ^ 
theirs, that you are inclined to visit the poor 
and the afflicted. Such ministrations bring a 
blessing to one’s own heart.” 

“ They do indeed. Ni|w if you say I must, 

I shall turn my steps to the parsonage.” 

“ I shall tell Mrs. Weems that I proposed 
to you to postpone your visit to her till anoth- 
er day.” 

“ She’s toming, mamma ! She’s toming ! ” 
cried Emma, who had been set to watch while 
her mother performed some unfinished house- 
hold duties. 

“ What a very tardy person you are*grow- 
ing to be, Fanny,” exclaimed the lady, advan- 
cing to meet her guest ; “ Here have I been 


78 


THE STEANGE PEOPOSAL. 


spending half my time running to the gate to 
see if you were in sight.” 

“ I didn’t intend to come at all to-day,” be- 
gan Fanny. 

“ But didn’t you receive my note ? ” 

“No, I left home soon after breakfast to 
call upon Eufus Blake.” 

“ And did you see Evarts? Did he tell 
you anything ? ” 

“ Only that you were expecting me. From 
your excited, earne^jpmanner, I begin to sus- 
pect something.” 

“You can never imagine what I have to 
tell you. I am so glad Evarts is away and I 
can have you. all to myself. I have had a let- 
ter from home, and it is all about you.” 

“ About me?” 

“ Yes ; I suppose you thought I asked you 
all those questions concerning your lameness, 
for nothing but curiosity. I wrote all about 
you to my sister in Philadelphia, and asked her 
to consult Dr. B . He is the most skilful 


TIM^S SISTEK. 


79 


physician there, and he says that the case, as 
I represent it, is a very hopeful one ; but he 
cannot give advice, of course, till he has seen 
you, and mother has invited you to accompa- 
ny me home, and stay as long as Dr. B — 
thinks it necessary for you to be under his 
care. I wasn’t expecting to go for a month 
or two yet, but Evarts says if I choose I may 
go at once. Isn’t he land? Now what do 
you say to my scheme ? ” 

But Fanny had not a word to say. It was 
so sudden and overpowering. “Can it be 
possible?” she asked herself, “ that I shall 
be freed from this affliction ? ” She sat with 
her eyes fixed in wonder upon her friend, her 
varying color giving evidence of the depth of 
her interest in the subject. 

“You’ll go, of course,” continued Louisa, 
tenderly Idssing Fanny’s cheek. “ Oh, should 
not I be glad to see you throw away those 
everlasting crutches ! ” 

“ They have been good friends,” spoke the 


80 


THE STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


cheerful voice of IMr. Sheldon, coming in from 
the study ; “ Without them we could not see 
Fanny at the parsonage. Crutches are not to 
he despised.” 

“No, of course not, if they are necessary; 
hut I know they are not to you, dear. There 
Emma, kiss aunty, and tell her what a nice 
time we shall have at grandmamma’s.” 

Fanny caught the child and hid her burning 
face in the white neck. 

“ I dare not believe it. It seems too great 
a blessing to be true,” she murmured in a 
broken voice. “ I never expected to be in- 
dependent of these supports. • I didn’t know 
how much pride there was left in my heart to 
be conquered.” 

She cast a glance at her kind friends so full 
of humility and self-reproach, that they were 
deeply moved. 

“Let us hope,” said Mr. Sheldon gently, 
“ that they have done the work God intended 
to accomplish by them. It is right to be re- 


TIM’S SISTEK. 


81 


signed to the -vvill of providence, to acquiesce 
cheerfully in God’s dispensations to us ; hut 
we ought not to refuse proffered blessings. I 
agree with Louisa that I should like to see 
you well enough to walk without the use of 
crutches ; but I am not quite so sanguine as 

she is whether even Dr. B can work a 

cure. There is enough of encouragement, 
however, to give him a fair trial, and no one, 
unless it is your father, will be more rejoiced 

to welcome you back to N , able to walk 

on your own feet.” 


CHAPTEE Vm. 


fanny’s first journey. 


► T is not my pm-pose to describe Mr. 

Eay’s delight at the bare possibility of 
' his daughter's being free from her in- 
firmity ; nor the haste with which her 
preparations were made for her extend- 
ed visit. Neither can I sto]D to narrate the 
zeal of Mrs. Eay in her step-daughter’s behalf, 
which seemed to open a new leaf in her char- 
acter. I will only say, that under the influ- 
ence of these happier days, the father con- 
sented to invest a small sum in a new partner- 
ship, and which ofiered a fine profit ; and that 
the wife not unwillingly accepted a handsome 
present from the daughter, as a return for her 


services. 


TIM’S SISTER. 


83 


They reached Philadelphia in safety, but 
with so much fatigue to poor Fanny, owing 
mainly to the excitement with which she look- 
ed forward to her first interview with Dr. 
B., that she was glad to retire to bed. In 
the evening she was introduced to Mr. and 
Mrs. Hamilton, parents of her friend Mrs. 
Sheldon, and also to the Misses Emma and 
Mary Hamilton. After an hour of pleasant 
conversation, the bell was rung for family 
prayers. The servants entered quietly and 
took their seats. Emma took her place at the 
piano, when they all joined in singing a hymn. 

** So let our lips and lives express 
The holy gospel we profess; 

So let our works and virtues shine. 

To prove the doctrine all divine. 

** Thus shall we best proclaim abroad. 

The honors of our Saviour, God ; 

When the salvation reigns within, 

And grace subdues the power of sin.’* 

Mary then opened the large Bible, and read 
the chapter in course, after which Mr. Hamil- 


84 


FIRST JOURNEY. 


ton committed himself and family to the care 
and protection of a covenant-keeping God. 

“Oh, what a happy family yours is ! ” ex- 
claimed Fanny, with deep feeling, as at a later - 
hour she and Mrs. Sheldon were sitting to- 
gether, in the chamber of the former. 

“Yes, Fanny, it is truly so. We have had 
many trials, some sudden reverses of fortune, 
but there is one blessed tie, besides the dear 
link of natural affection, VvFich unites us in 
one bond. All who were present to night, 
even to the old family servants, could, I trust, 
unite from the heart in the sentiment express- 
ed in the first two lines of that precious hymn 
we sung. Emma and Mary have professed 
Christ since I left home. They are very dif- 
ferent in their religious experience. I want 
you to study their characters, and do them 
good.” 

“Me?” responded Fanny, with a humble 
glance. “ Surrounded as they are by such 
influences, there is little I can do. Oh, Loui- 


TIM’S SISTER. 


85 


sa, 'whatever may be the result of my visit 
hero, I hope I shall grow in the heavenly gra- 
ces. It will be my own fault if I do not. I 
scarcely dare confess even to my oto heart, 
how much I desire to be free from my infirm- 
ity. Would you believe it, even when your 
sister Mary rose during family prayers and 
walked across the room to the table, the wick- 
ed thought rose in my mind, ‘ how awkwardly, 
Fanny, you would have looked limping across 
with your crutches.’” 

The poor girl hid her face, blushing vio- 
lently. 

“It is foolish, I know, to repeat such 
thoughts,” she added presently, “ but it pains 
me to have you deceived in me. Keally, dear 
Louisa, you think far better of me than I de- 
serve.” 

“Well, if it will please you. I’ll grant all 
that,” was the smiling rejoinder; “but some- 
how, I can’t lielp loving you though you are 
so dreadful.” Mrs. Sheldon kissed her affec- 


86 


fanny’s first journey. 


tionately, and said, “ I am almost as impatient 
as you are, to see Dr. B— . I shall delay my 
letter to Evarts, till after his visit. I don’t 
believe you half know what a friend you have 
in him.” 

Fanny smiled, and then said as her friend’s 
inquiring look demanded an explanation, 

“ Excuse me, dear, hut I have often thought 
the same thing of you. You need not raise 
yom* hand in such a threatening manner. I 
know you are aware that he loves you more 
than all beside ; but do you realize what a 
true friend he is, how thoughtful of your hap- 
piness, how self-sacrificing with regard to his 
own, how tender of your little failings, how 
anxious to help you to amend them, and be- 
come what he knows you wish to be, a per- 
fect Christian woman.” ' 

“Yes, I think I do realize it. With my 
impulsive temperament, what should I do 
without Evarts ? He is always ready to make 
allowances, and to give me the full meed of 


TIM’feJ SiSTJiU. 


87 


praise which I deserve. Then his example 
of steady, persevering " effort in the cause to 
which he has devoted himself, will, I hope in 
time, modify my inconstant, uncertain aims. 
I do indeed, long to be a perfect Christian ; 
but I have many sloughs to wade through, 
many hills of difficulty to climb, many lions 
to encounter and overcome, before I attain to 
that eminence. 

“ Emma, as you will soon perceive, is very 
like me in temperament. I hope in due time, 
God may send her an Evarts. But here I am 
keeping you from your sleep, which I know 
you much need. So, good-night once more.” 

Precisely as the clock struck eleven, the 
next morning. Dr. B.’s low-hung buggy stop- 
ped* at the door. With one quick motion he 
threw the weight upon the side-walk, attach- 
ed the other to the horse’s bit, and then as- 
cended the steps to the house. He was an 
old and valued friend, and with a bound of 
pleasure, Mrs. Sheldon caught up her little 
Emma, and advanced to meet bim. 


88 


fanny’s first journey. 


Though poor Fanny sat in the back parlor, 
tremliling with excitement, trying to calm her 
mind by a short prayer to her Father in heav- 
en, she could plainly hear the heartiness of 
his greeting, and was reassured by it. 

The next hour was devoted to an examina- 
tion of her case, — the physician listening pa- 
tiently to her account of the accident, and the 
medical treatment she had afterwards receiv- 
ed. After he had personally inspected the 
limb, he looked so grave that the jDOor crip- 
jDle’s countenance paled, until Louisa became 
alarmed. 

“You can’t judge at all from his counte- 
nance,” she whispered, “ he always looks so- 
ber when he is thinldng.” 

Dr. B., who had walked abstractedly to. the 
windovT, turned suddenly, and asked, “ How 
long can you remain in Philadelphia ? ” 

“ Just as long as you wish her to do so,” 
replied Mrs. Sheldon, quickly. “Oh, doc- 
tor, do give us a little encourageme.nt I We 
have depended so much on you.” 


xm’s SISTEK. 


89 


He seemed scarcely to hear her, but return- 
ed to his seat on the sofa, and taking Fanny’s 
hand with the tenderness of a father, said, 

“ In some respects your case is a peculiar 
one. I think there is no doubt but there 
might have been a cure if j)roper means had 
been resorted to at once.” 

“ But now?” faltered Fanny, trying to feel 
and speak calmly. 

“ Yes, now,” he repeated in a cheerful tone, 
“ Now we must do what we can, and hope for 
the best. I trust you know who orders every 
step in our path.” 

“Yes, sir,” she answered, her face bright- 
ening, “ and I know that if He thinks it best 
for mo. He will bless the means you use.” 

“ That’s the right view to take, child,” giv- 
ing her hand a warm gxasp. “ I shall wish to 
consult one of the hospital surgeons before I 
resort to any particular course of treatment. 
But as you know where to look for help fo 
bear it, I may as well tell you that probably 
you will have to suffer considerable pain.” 


90 


fanny’s first journey. 


Which I will try to do patiently, and even 
cheerfully, doctor.” 

He nodded approvingly, gave her hand a 
parting shake, as he said, “ to-morrow, then, 
at eleven,” and bowed himself from the room, 
followed slowly by Louisa, who exclaimed 
eagerly, “ Doctor, do be frank, and tell me 
if you hope to effect a cure ? She is so good 
and gentle, she dared not ask herself ; but I 
know her so well, I saw her watch every va- 
riation of your countenance, to discover your 
opinion that — ” 

He laughed heartily. 

“But couldn’t make out the old, hard fea- 
tures. Is that what you mean ? ” 

“But, doctor, she wont be able to rest a 
moment to-day, or sleep to-night, in such sus- 
pense.” 

“Excuse me, child,” he said with emo- 
tion ; “ but I honestly think you are mistaken. 
I really believe that your friend is at this mo- 
ment seeking strength to bear whatever God 


Tim’s sister. 


91 


in his providence may send, and I know that 
if she does thus seek, she will find.” 

Louisa grasped the hand he extended, and 
was sure she saw a tear glistening in his eye, 
as he hastily left the door. With an undefin- 
ed sinking of the heart, she turned slowly back 
to the parlor, almost dreading to meet her 
friend. 

To her surprise, Fanny’s face was lighted 
with animation. “I am so glad it is over,” 
she cried in a cheerful voice ; “I dreaded so 
much this first interview, and now I have giv- 
en it all up into His hands who has alvfays or- 
dered my path in great mercy.” 

Mrs. Sheldon kissed her cheek in silence. 

“J have been thinking,” added the lame 
girl, “ that perhaps if I were to be entirely 
cured, I might become vain or proud. I can 
readily see I should be exposed to many temp- 
tations which now I am free from, and which 
I might not resist as I ought ; and I’m really, 
truly pleased to leave it with One who knows 


\)2 


fanny’s first journey. 


wliat is best for me, far better than I can 
judge for myself.” 

At this moment, Emma Hamilton and her 
little namesake came in to hear the opinion of 
their good doctor, and after that the conver- 
‘sation turned upon other subjects. 

The next morning Dr. S. accompanied Dr. 
B. ; when the examination of the crippled 
limb was repeated. He was wholty unlike 
the family physician — younger, but rough 
and oif-liand in his manners and address. His 
movement of the limb was not so tender, and 
caused the poor girl to utter an exclamation 
of pain. 

To the Indignant Louisa, he seemed to re- 
gard her friend as a mere machine which had 
no feeling ; but when she saw how after the 
first involuntary scream, Fanny nerved herself 
to endure the long and trying examination to 
which she was subjected, she felt ashamed to 
exhibit her emotion. 

The physicians retired to the farther end of 


Tim’s sisteb. 


93 


the room for a few moments of earnest consul- 
tation . When they turned back, Dr . S . walked 
quickly to the sofa and frankly said, “you 
have borne our rough treatment so v/ell that 
we are induced to try a remedy which we hope 
may work a cure, though it will be attended 
with pain. I should advise some weak wine 
and water to restore the color to your face 
and lips.” Then with a low bow he turned 
hastily from the room. 

Mrs. Sheldon left the apartment to procure 
the cordial, while Dr. B., seating himself near 
her, said in a low tone, “I think my poor 
child, you must have suffered much, but God 
sustained you, because you sought his favor.’' 

“ Only the thought of his presence enabled 
me to endure without murmuring,” was Fan- 
ny’s tearful response. “ I hope he has adopted 
mo as his child, and will not allow me to suf- 
fer one pang more than is for my good.” 

As Mrs. Sheldon presented the wine, the 
doctor explained to them the course of treat- 


94 


fanny’s first journey 


ment he meant to pursue. He said, “ Dr. S. 
agreed with him that there was a ground for 
hope, but that it would be necessary for her 
to take every means, such as the air and nour- 
ishing food, to keep up her general health.” 


CHAPTEE IX. 


PATIENCE UNDER SUFFERING. 

UEING the weeks which followed, 
our young friend had ample opportu- 
nity to honor her Saviour by her pa- 
tience, her sweet submission to the 
will of her heavenly Father, and by 
her desire to do good to those around her. 

The small iron cup or plate which Dr. B. 
had fastened to her hip-joint, occasioned her 
constant suffering, and before the end of the 
month, made such sad ravages with her health 
and spirits, that Dr. S. was once more called 
for consultation. 

He said it was doing its work well, but — 
turning abruptly to the patient, “ vhat do 
you say ? Are you willing to bear longer the 
pain consequent upon wearing the support?” 




96 PATIENCE UNDEK SUFTEEING. 

With a smile she answered: “ Wliatever 
you and Dr. B. think best, I am willing to 
do.” 

- Dr. S. gazed a moment in her face, held up 
to the light her thin, transparent hand, and 
then in a brusque way, turning to Dr. B. , said, 
“ I wish we had more such submissive ]Da- 
tients.” 

Presently he walked to the window where, 
for nearly live minutes he stood whistling in 
an abstract manner, when Dr. B. joined him. 

“I have been thinldng,” said the former, 
“ whether a slight alteration in the form of 
the cup might not lessen the suffering, with- 
out lessening the support. In this form for 
instance,” bending a stiff card he took from 
the table, to illustrate his purpose. 

“ Capital,” replied the other. “ Try it by 
all means. In the mean time we must give 
something to restore our patient’s appetite. 
She is losing her strength more than I like to 


see. 


xm’s SISTER. 


97 


Mrs. Sheldon, who was to leave Philadel- 
phia the next day, now approached them and 
said, with deep feeling, 

“ You know Dr. B., it was through my in- 
fluence Fanny was induced to try and be cured 
of her lameness. I want you to assure me 
before I go back to her friends, that the treat- 
ment will not permanently aifect her health.” 

The physicians glanced anxiously at each 
other ; Dr. S. laid his hand on her arm as he 
said, gravely, “ I can only assure you that 
such a result shall be guarded against. Does 
she continue to ride regularly ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, but of late it seems to do her no 
good. She comes home dreadfully exhausted, 
and is obliged to lie lorostrate for some hours 
before she rallies. I have twice postponed 
my return to N., for I cannot bear to leave 
her in so feeble a condition.” 

Dr. S. shook his head in a decided manner, 
and then left suddenly, saying, “I will call 
in with Dr. B., to-morrow.” 


98 


PxVTlENCE UNDEE SUEFEEING. 


Louisa Sheldon and her sister, Emma Ham- 
ilton, inherited the warm, impulsive tempera- 
ment of their father, while Mary, the younger 
daughter, was timid and self-distrustful, like 
her mother. The peculiar traits of the daugh- 
ters were modified but not changed when they 
became experimental Christians. 

In the ardor of her first love, Emma longed 
to do something to show her zeal for the cause 
of Christ. Not content with small, every-day 
duties, she craved the opportunity to make a 
martyr of herself, to lay dovm if need be, her 
very life for the Saviour, who had done so 
much for her. She planned vast schemes for 
visiting the poor, for the distribution of tracts, 
for the formation of Sabbath Schools. When 
her father represented the difficulties she 
would have to encounter, instead of feeling 
discouraged, her eyes would sparkle and her 
whole countenance beam with animation. But 
unfortunately, she was so bent on performing 
some great work, that many, what she called 


TBI’S SISTER. 


99 


trifling duties, remained unperformed. As 
the eldest daughter at home, she was expect- 
ed to relieve her mother of much care in the 
household — to interest herself in the right 
ordering of the servants, and in various ways 
to promote the general comfort of the family. 

During Mrs. Sheldon’s visit, she passed 
most of the morning in the room with her 
friend ; indeed, Fanny’s chamber was a favor- 
ite resort with the whole household. One 
day Emma came in with a flushed, anxious 
face, exclaiming, “ I believe I never shall be 
able to accomplish anything. I intended to- 
day to go with Mrs. Cumming’s to visit some 
families, and distribute tracts, but cook has 
one of her tearing headaches, and Kate must 
do her work, so I shall be obliged to stay at 
home, and turn chamber-girl.” She then 
threw herself down in the chair, and seemed 
wholly discouraged. 

Fanny, who was lying on the bed, gazed at 
her a moment, and then said softly, “God 


100 PATIENCE UNDEK SUFFERING. 

never expects us to do more than he gives us 
time and strength to perform.” 

“ But I have both time and strength,” was 
the quick reply. 

“ No , Emma , not as I understand it . N eith- 
er time nor strength this morning, for has tie 
not appointed other duties for you? Would 
you feel it to be right to neglect the comforts 
of your parents, and of the family?” 

“No, that was not what worried me,” re- 
plied Emma, blushing violently. “It was 
that when I had made all my arrangements 
to go this morning, all these vexatious things 
should happen.” 

“ Poor Adeline would doubtless have been 
glad to do her own work in preference to suf- 
fering from her head-ache.” 

“ Of course, no one is to blame,” exclaim- 
ed Emma, starting up quickly,” I mean no- 
body but myself. I am beginning to think I 
have acted very foolishly. Do you believe, 
Fanny, I shall ever learn to be patient under 


xm’s SISTER. 


101 


little trials ? I am pretty sure I could be un- 
der great ones.” 

“ I am sure there is One who will help you, 
if you ask Him.” 

Mary Hamilton was on the contrary, shy 
and timid in the expression of her own feel- 
ings ; indeed it was with trembling she ven- 
tured to indulge a hope that she had been ac- 
cepted by Christ. 

She had lately consented, after much urg- 
ing, to take a class in the Sabbath School, but 
confessed one day to Fanny that she must 
give up the charge. “I feel that I do wrong 
every week that I keep it,” she urged as she 
was pressed for a reason. 

“I cannot yet understand your motive,” 
remarked Fanny, with a smile. 

“ Why, one of the girls has for a few weeks 
seemed more than usually interested in relig- 
ion. I could perceive that her whole manner 
was changed ; and I really suffered from fear 
lest she should ask my advice. How can I, 


102 PATIENCE UNDEK SUFFERING. 

who am so imperfect myself, tell another how 
to find peace? Why, every day I am op- 
pressed with doubts lest I am after all deceiv- 
ing myself.” 

“ It is a great and important duty,” answer- 
ed the lame girl, seriously, “ to examine our- 
selves thoroughly, but we ought to be careful 
lest we fail to give God tho praise which is 
his due. If he has really adopted you into 
his family ; if the Saviour has really cleansed 
you with his precious blood ; if the Holy Spirit 
has really begun a work of sanctification in 
your heart, how can you without sin, debar 
them from the glory which is their due ? ” 

Mary looked at her friend in surprise, and 
presently murmured, “ I never thought of it 
in that light. I was only afraid I was think- 
ing too well of my own situation and pros- 
pects for eternity.” 

“ That is not your danger, dear Mary. To 
one of Emma’s sanguine temperament it might 
be ; but you naturally take the worst view of 


Tim’s sistek. 


103 


a subject, and must therefore guard against 
undue distrust of yourself. If you see the 
graces of piety working in your own heart, 
and helping to form your character, why 
should you not believe in them and rejoice 
that they are bestowed upon you ? ” 

“But about the Sabbath School,” urged 
Mary, after a pause, “while there are so 
many better fitted than I am, ought I to stand 
in the way ? ” 

‘ ‘ Do you mean to ask whether you ought 
to try to do any good, because you cannot do 
as much as some other persons?” inquired 
Fanny, with an arch smile, “ because if that 
is the question, I will answer in the words of 
the poet : 

* What if the little rain should plead. 

So small a drop as I 
Can ne’er refresh yon thirsty mead; 

I’ll tarry in the sky! 

What if a shining beam of noon 
Should in its fountain stay. 

Because its feeble light alpne 
Was not enough for day? 


104 


PATIENCE UNDER SUEFERING 


* Doth not each rain drop help to form 
The cool refreshing shower? 

And every ray of light to warm 
And beautify the flower ? 

Go then, and strive to do thy part, 
Though humble it may be ; 

The ready hand, the willing heart. 
Are all Heaven asks of thee.* 


CHAPTER X. 


THE HAPPY RESULT. 




^HE proposed alteration in the sup- 
porter for Fanny’s hip was made at 
^once, and was found to answer the pur- 
pose better than they had dared to 
hope. As the pain decreased her ap- 
petite and strength gradually returned, so 
that in a month after Mrs. Sheldon left, she 
was able to walk comfortably about the room, 
and even a short distance on the side-walk. 

It was found, however, that on the lame 
side the muscles had contracted so much that 
it was necessary for her to wear one shoe with 
a much thicker sole than the other. But to 
this difference Dr. B. told her she would soon 
become accustomed. 


106 


THE HAPPY RESULT. 


At the end of another month, her kind phy- 
sician told her she was well enough to dismiss 
him if she wished to do so, “ otherwise,” he 
added with a laugh, “I have become so at- 
tached to a pair of large grey eyes beaming a 
cordial welcome upon me, that I shall proba- 
bly continue my visits.” 

Fanny’s eyes glistened, as she warmly 
replied, ‘ ‘ I never shall dismiss you, doctor. I 
never can have the courage to deprive myself 
of the real comfort I experience from your 
daily call. Even when you were causing me 
so much pain,” she added with her own bright 
smile, “ I longed for you, and welcomed the 
hour when you would come.” 

Dr. B. laughed as he stroked his long white 
beard. “ I suppose,” said he, “ that I am in- 
debted to my advanced age for the frankness 
of your confession ; but I am grateful. Phy- 
sicians as well as other people, have a right to 
indulge in luxuries once in a while ; and it 
has been a real pleasure, child, for me to at- 


Tim’s sister. 


107 


tend on you. I have had my pay for every 
visit as I went along, in seeing for myself how 
the love of Christ could sweeten afiliction, and 
render every pang a fresh cause for grati- 
tude.” 

The poor girl’s tears flowed so fast she could 
not command her voice to reply, and when in 
answer to Emma Hamilton’s remark, “ Now, 
I suppose the flrst thing she will be packing 
up her trunks,” he said. “ not till I give her 
leave,” she could only catch his hand as he 
presented it for a parting shake, and press her 
lips warmly upon it. 

The next day he dropped in, he said, be- 
cause his horse would not go by, and gave her 
permission to write her father that she would- 
return with him if he could make it conveni- 
ent to come for her. 

She followed him into the hall, determined 
to speak of her indebtedness to him, and say 
she could not consent to be under so great an 
obligation. 


108 


THE HAPPY RESULT. 


The moment she adverted to the subject, ho 
drew from his pocket-book a receipted bill 
which he presented her, saying, “I got this 
from Dr. S., telling him I thought you would 
like to pay it before you left the city. If you 
wish you may entrust the amount, thirty dol- 
lars, to me, and I will forward it to him. As 
for myself, child, I can well afford the luxury 
of a little pleasure once in a while, and if, in 
the mean time, I have done you any good, 
why so much the better. You are most 
heartily welcome to my services.” 

Fanny’s lips quivered, and she tried to 
choke down a sob as she busied herself in 
selecting bank bills from her purse for Dr. S. 

“ Eemember,” said he, as he grasped her 
hand, “ that if you have any return of your 
lameness, I shall expect to be called upon. 
Doctors are very sensitive about their old pa- 
tients. And now, my child, may God bless 
you and keep you in all your ways.” 

She tried to speak, but her voice was chok- 


Tim’s sister. 


109 


ed, and her tears were blinding her, and be- 
fore she could at all recover herself, he had 
gone down the stairs, shut the outer-door and 
driven off. 

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Hamilton would con- 
sent to receive any compensation which Fan- 
ny’s generous heart prompted her to offer 
them for their hospitality, during her long visit. 
She could scarcely get them to consent that 
their daughters should accept the handsome 
presents it was her delight to purchase for 
them. When her father came to accompany 
her home, they assured him they parted from 
her with great regret, and would gladly urge 
her to prolong her visit, had she not seemed 
so impatient to return to her duties in N. 

Mr. Kay could scarcely express his delight 
as upon hearing his well-known voice inquir- 
ing for her, his daughter came unaided quick- 
ly down the stairs and threw herself into his 
arms. 

“ For years I have not been so happy,” he 


110 


THE HAPPY RESULT. 


said again and again. But after they had tak- 
en leave of their kind friends, and were on 
their way home, Fanny did not think her 
father happy. When he was not speaking to 
her, he relapsed into the same gloomy, re- 
served state. She longed to ask him about 
her step-mother, but dreaded to broach what 
might be a painful subject. She inquired in 
a cheerful tone concerning his business, but 
he was evidently disinclined to answer, and 
from the fact that he with many apologies 
asked her for money to pay the expenses of 
their journey, she inferred that it was not so 
prosperous as she had hoped. 

Mrs. Sheldon had written by Mr. Eay to 
say, that she should expect Fanny to come 
directly to the parsonage, and when she show- 
ed her father the letter, he had said, “ yes, I 
promised it should be so.” 

As they drew nearer home, his manner be- 
came still more gloomy. Sometimes when 
she addressed him, he gave a start as if his 


Tim’s sister. 


Ill 


thoughts were so much absorbed he had for- 
gotten her presence. She was greatly per- 
plexed, and they rode on side by side through 
long miles of woods, then suddenly emerging 
into a village or town, and without a pause 
to take breath on into the woods again. She 
passed in review all he had been to her from 
the time she, a little wee thing, used to run 
to meet him, when with a merry laugh he 
would catch her in his arms or toss her on his 
shoulder, and bound away through the garden 
walks. Then after her own dear mother had 
been laid to her rest in the quiet church-yard, 
she remembered how he seemed to have unit- 
ed in himself the tenderness of a father with 
the loving, anxious care of a mother. Again 
she was a child, and could see his bright, 
handsome face bending over her bed as she 
repeated the little prayers her mother had 
taught her. She recalled to mind the many 
times she had prayed for dear mamma after 
he had told her in a trembling voice that 


112 


THE HAPPY RESULT. 


mamma had gone to the happy world, and 
there was now no need of praying for her. 
Then came the dreadful accident which had so 
affected her whole life, and how attentive, 
how loving, how Idnd, how patient he had 
been, no words of hers could describe. All 
these reminiscences called up such a rush 
of tenderness and gratitude on her part, that 
she instinctively turned toward him to give 
vent to her feelings by expressing them. One 
glance, however, into his face brought her 
quickly from the past to the present. Though 
the weather was cool, the perspiration stood 
in great beads on his forehead, and his eyes 
had a wild, staring look as if he saw monsters 
in the distance. 

“Father! father!” she exclaimed, touch- 
ing his arm, “father, are you ill? AYhat is 
the matter with you, father?” 

He tried to smile, but it was worse than in 
vain. And though after tins he resolutely 
shook off' his reserve, *and was kind and at- 


Tm’S SISTER. 


iia 

tentive as ever, she felt that sinking of the 
spirits which seemed to foretell coming sor- 
row. 

Of her friends in N. , he was ready to speak. 
Eufus, she Imew had gone to his heavenly 
home. He told her that on the last day be- 
fore his death, at his request Mr. Sheldon had 
called in Squire Holden’s two boys as they 
came riding by, — that he thanked them for 
the pleasure they had given him, for of late 
they had seen his interest, as his pale face 
watched them so earnestly from the cottage 
window ; and then with almost his last breath 
told them he enjoyed happiness far greater 
than theirs could be ; and if they would enjoy 
it, when they came to die, they .must choose 
Christ as their portion, and honor him by 
their lives. 

He told her, too, that on the day of the fu- 
neral it was affecting to see, directly after the 
mourners, the two boys on their horses trim- 
med with mourning knots, marching in the 


114 


THE HAPPY KESULT. 


procession, as if they were glad to pay this 
last token of respect to their young compan- 
ion. 

Mr. Ray spoke also of their joy at the par- 
sonage, when he carried the letter containing 
the news of her first unaided walk, — ^how ea- 
gerly Mrs. Sheldon had exclaimed, “ I was 
sure Dr. B. could cure her. Don’t you re- 
member, Evarts, that I told you I was quite 
sure ? ” Mr. Ray did not tell, for he did not 
know himself, why Mr. Sheldon had smiled 
so archly, as he remembered that she had 
been far from sure on her return from Phila- 
delphia ; and that she had shed many tears as 
she described the low state of health which 
had followed Dr. B.’s first visits. He was too 
kind to remind her of this now, and rejoiced 
as thoroughly as she wished, in Fanny’s re- 
covery. 

But Mr. Ray told how Mrs. Sheldon 
had described his daughter’s patience and 
sweetness of temper which had endeared her 


TOl’S SISTER. 


115 


to every one, and that she had even brought 
little Emma to kiss him, and say how she lov- 
ed aunt Fanny. 

While he was talking of her and her friends, 
he seemed like a different man, and again his 
daughter said, to herself, ‘ ‘ what can it be ? ” 
and again she lifted up her heart in prayer 
that whatever evil was to come upon them, 
God might bring out of it the great blessing 
she desired, even the salvation of her father's 
soul. 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE DELUDED GAMBLER. 



S)AXNY’S reception by her friends li 
the parsonage, was quite as cordial as 
even her own warm heart could desire. 

J Louisa was at the gate holding Emma 
in her arms, at the first sound of the 
coach turning into the street. Mr. Ray as- 
sisted his daughter to descend the steps, when 
Mr. Sheldon gave her his arm to the front 
door, where a few moments were devoted to 
aflfectionate embraces between the friends, the 
pastor meanwhile surveying the scene with a 
complacent air. He then quietly gave Fanny 
his hand, saying, 

“ This has been a pleasure we have had so 
long in anticipation that I can scarcely realize 
it has come at last. God be praised that you 


Tim’s sister. 


117 


have returned to your home in safety and in 
health.” 

His deeply solemn manner so oppressed the 
poor girl, whose heart was already full to over- 
flowing, that she cast down her eyes to con- 
ceal the tears. 

At this moment the sound of the coach 
driving from the door, startled her, and look- 
ing wildly from the window, she exclaimed, 
“ Oh, where is father? I must see father.” 

Mr. Sheldon hastened to the door, but the 
coach was already out of sight. When he re- 
turned, Fanny w^s seated on the sofa, her face 
concealed by her handkerchief, weeping bit- 
terly. 

The pastor, who suspected at once the cause 
of her grief, advanced to her side, saying, ‘‘ If 
it is necessary for you to see him at once, I 
will follow him to his home and ask him to 
come to you.” 

“ But he wont be there,” sobbed Fanny. 
“ I heard him make an appointment with a 


118 


THE DELUDED GAMBLEK. 


dreadful man. I can’t understand it, and I 
must go to him.” 

Her feelings changed when she saw Louisa 
quietly wipe her eyes as her husband gently 
led her from the room. She made a powerful 
effort to compose herself, and when he pres- 
ently returned, said in a faltering voice, “ I 
ought not to have come here to disturb dear 
Louisa. Oh, Mr. Sheldon, I am so anxious 
about my father ! ” 

“ What do you know to cause such anxie- 
ty?” he asked in a peculiar tone, that arrest- 
ed her attention. 

“Nothing, certainly, but he is so unlike 
himself. I am sure there is something weigh- 
ing on his mind. I tried to hope that it might 
be concern for his soul ; but at the depot an 
ill-dressed, sinister looking man came up to 
him, and after a few words of low, earnest 
discussion, I heard father say, 

‘ Well, if it must be so. I’ll be there ; but 
remember this is to be the last time.’ 


Tim’s sister. 


119 


“ Father then left him to give the checks 
for my baggage to the hackman, but I saw 
the man turn back and laugh, and shake his 
fist at the retreating form. I determined to 
ask on our way here, what it could mean, but 
to my surprise father got up to the seat with 
the driver, making an excuse that the inside 
of the coach would be full.” 

Mr. Sheldon rose and walked to the win- 
dow, and then slowly returned to the sofa. 

“ I am sorry,” he began, “ that your return 
to N., should be disturbed; but it will be in 
vain to conceal long from you that your fath- 
er, being driven from his home by the bad 
temper of his wife, and not being in any reg- 
ular employment, has come into the habit of 
visiting a gambling saloon, at first, I suppose, 
merely for curiosity, until now it it said, he 
has had hea^y losses.” 

Fanny started. “ That can hardly be,” she 
cried. “ He has nothing to lose ; ” but pres- 
ently the blood rushed into her face as she 


120 


THE DELUDED GAMBLER. 


thought, “ I gave him unlimited power over, 
mine ; but oh, not for this did I give up dear 
grandmother’s legacy.” 

‘‘ I am glad if that is the case,” answered 
Mr. Sheldon, after fixing on her varying color 
a searching gaze. “ It is generally true that 
such reports are exaggerated. I was going 
to say that Louisa begged me for your sake to 
see Mr. Eay and warn him of the well-known 
profligacy of his associates ! ” 

“ And did you do so?” 

“ I went twice to his house ; but Mrs. Bay 
frankly said she didn’t know where he spent 
his time — he certainly did not spend it at 
home ; and I had just determined to follow 
him to the gambling saloon if I could not find 
him elsewhere, when your welcome letter 
came summoning him to Philadelphia.”. 

Fanny wept, but more calmly. After her 
dreadful suspense in the cars, it was a relief 
to know exactly the trial she was called upon 
to meet. 


Tim’s sister. 


121 


“ Louisa would most gladly come to soothe 
you,” he remarked, scarcely knowing what to 
say, “ but in her excitable state I begged her 
to absent herself until you were able to con- 
trol your feelings. I suppose, though, I ought 
to tell you that your mother-in-law is far from 
well. No doubt she is extremly worried about 
her husband’s afiairs.” 

“Is she?” inquired Fanny, in an absent 
manner. She resolutely wiped away her tears, 
and after breathing a prayer for help to bear 
these new trials, said in quite a firm tone, 
“ my duty is plain, father in trouble, and his 
wife sick, my place is at home. I think I can 
control myself to bid Louisa good-bye, and 
then I will go.” 

“I have no authority to say you shall not,” 
answered the pastor with a smile, though his 
voice sounded very decided; “but I can 
strongly advise you to remain here quietly 
to-night, and endeavor to get rest after your 
long journey. To-morrow morning as early 
as you desire, I will accompany you home.” 


122 


THE DELUDED GAMBLER. 


“ But Louisa,” murmured Fanny, “ I ought 
not t6 intrude my sorrows upon her.” 

‘ ‘ Louisa shall speak for herself on that 
point,” he answered in a cheerful tone. 

Fanny did not wish to act in direct opposi- 
tion to the advice of her friends, and therefore 
consented to remain till morning. Having 
done so, she determined to be as cheerful as 
possible. She begged her friend to leave her 
a few minutes alone, when she endeavored to 
throw her care upon the Saviour, and asked 
him to bear it for her. The thought that she 
had still a heavenly Father who was unchange- 
able in his goodness, wisdom and love, sooth- ^ 
ed her, and after bathing her eyes and mak- 
ing a slight change in her dress, she returned 
to the parlor, calm and almost cheerful. 

While Ann, the only servant, prepared tea, 
she gave an account of the kindness of Dr. B., 
and delivered many messages of love from 
the home circle she had left. 

Little Emma, too, claimed her full share of 


Tim’s sister. 


123 


attention ; and at last was only won from the 
lap of aunty by the permission to ride around 
the rooms on one of the disused crutches, 
which Fanny had brought from Philadelphia, 
with much care. 

“ They are to serve as a warning against 
pride,” she answered, laughing, as Louisa 
wondered at her wish to retain them. 

During their repast, Mr. Sheldon took care 
to lead the conversation to pleasing subjects, 
and when afterwards she knelt with them at 
the family altar, and heard her dear pastor 
present her case to her Father in heaven with 
such an assurance of a blessing, not only for 
her, but for her misguided parent, she felt 
greatly strengthened to meet whatever trials 
were before her. 

Soon after this exercise, he rose to leave 
the house, having obtained a promise from his 
wife to retire early, that Fanny might do*so ; 
explaining that business called him away, and 
miffht detain him until a late hour. 

O 


124 


THE DELUDED GAMBLER. 


Something in his countenance as he glanced 
at her, gave Fanny the impression that he was 
going in search of her father, and her heart 
followed him with silent prayer that he might 
be the means of restraining him from greater 
sin. She said nothing to her friend, but for a 
few moments found it difficult to sustain her 
part in the conversation, and was relieved 
when it was proposed that they should adjourn 
to the chamber and put Miss Emma to bed. 

In the mean time, let us follow Mr. Shel- 
don. For some weeks the conviction, not a 
pleasant one, had been forcing itself upon him, 
that it was his duty to remonstrate with Mr. 
Eay upon the course he was now pursuing. 
He was well aware that th^ interest they had 
manifested in his daughter, gave them great 
hold on the man’s heart ; and now, sympathis- 
ing deeply in Fanny’s distress, he determined 
to vipit the gambling saloon, and make one 
strong appeal to Mr. Eay’s conscience. 

As was usually the case, the house in front 


xm’s SISTER. 


125 


was dark, and seemed deserted, but on going 
into a side alley, he could perceive glimmer- 
ings of light through the closed shutt^jrs. He 
stopped a moment out of sight, to plan a 
method of gaining admittance. His person 
was so well known through the town, he could 
not suppose that he should fail to be recog- 
nized. There was something extremely re- 
pulsive to him in the thought of disguising 
himself, so the hat which he had instinctively 
pulled down over his forehead was pushed 
back again, disclosing his broad, high brow, 
with the clear, full eyes, flashing underneath, 
for he well knew he might have some reck- 
less characters to deal with. 

“My purpose is a good one,” said he to 
himself. “ Our Saviour entered the abode of 
sinners to do them good, and I, one of the 
humblest of his followers, need not hesitate 
to do the same ; I will go forward boldl;^ and 
God will take care of the result.” 

“ Once, again and again, he knocked at the 


126 


THE DELUDED GA3IBLER. 


barred entrance, and was meditating wbat far • 
ther steps to take, when the door opened sud- 
denly, revealing by a flash of light from with- 
in, a long room set out with tables for card- 
players. He had no time to take notice of 
anything but this, for it was evident that the 
door had not been opened for him, but that 
something*unusual and alarming had occurred. 
A young man ran against him with such force 
as almost to knock him over, exclaiming, 
“he’ll die I he’ll sufibcate ! I’ll run for Dr. 
Clark.” 

“Do it, if you dare,” screamed a surly 
voice from the room, “ he’ll come round pres- 
ently. Do you suppose we’re going to have 
a doctor in here ? ” 

“ Carry him outside, then.” 

“I give yau my word it’s too late; he’s 
off now, stone dead.” 

In the midst of these exclamations, which 
were interspersed with many oaths and curses, 
Mr. Sheldon walked forward into the saloon. 


Tim’s sister. 


127 


The noise and hubbub was almost overpower- 
ing. The men had all left their gaming, and 
were pressing toward one corner of the room. 
\ ‘‘I say Blood is a cheat and a villain, too,” 

shouted a poor wretch, violently brandish- 
ing his hands. 

“Nonsense!” cried a haggard, bent old 
man. “ He only showed his hand too soon. 
If he’d kept dark, he might have cleaned his 
new bird all out, feathers and all.” 

Maldng his way with some force through 
the group, and noticing as he did so, that one 
man whom he had often seen loitering about 
the stores and taverns, was busily collecting 
the piles of money into heaps, and pushing 
the cards into the drawers, Mr. Sheldon at 
last drew near enough to see that a man look- 
ing very black in the face, was lying at full 
length on the sofa, the froth oozing slowly 
from his mouth. • 

Hastily pushing a chair out of his way, he 
cleared a table at one bound, and came down 


128 


THE DELUDED GAHBLER. 


just at the head of the wretched man, whom 
he at once recognized as Mr. Eay. 

I cannot pollute my paper by describing 
the awful oaths which run through the roonf 
when the parson seemed to fall from the roof 
into their midst. Some looking as if the 
blood would spirt from their faces, sprang at 
him to put him out ; but he was like a roused 
tiger. He Hung his arms about him with so 
much force, that they shrunk away in coward- 
ly fear. 

“ Back, back, I say ! ” he shouted, “ give 
the man air. He’s in a fit ! ” Then turning 
to the youth who had opened the door, he 
commanded him to go instantly for the doc- 
tor. Another man he ordered to call a car- 
riage to take Mr. Ray to his homoi Then he 
raised the senseless gambler sufficiently to 
untie his neck-cloth, and taking the head and 
shoulders in his lap asked if they had any 
kind of restorative at hand. 

As there was nothing but rum and brandy, 


Tim’s sister. 


129 


Mr. Sheldon was obliged to content himself 
with holding the convulsed hands, and pre- 
venting the wretched man from doing himself 
injury. 


CHAPTER Xn. 



THE RETURNING PRODIGAL. 

REALIZING as he did, that Mr. Ray 
might die unless relief was speedy, 
every moment of delay seemed an 
hour, hut at length a carriage was 
heard dashing up to the door, and the 
doctor rushed into the room. 

He gave a start of horror when he saw who 
was his patient, and a wild stare of surprise 
at finding his pastor in the midst of such a 
scene. But no time was to be lost in admin- 
istering to the necessities of the sick man. 

“ I can do nothing here,” he exclaimed in a 
loud, angry tone; “he must be got home, 
and the quicker the better.” 

But they had still to wait fifteen minutes 


mi’s 8ISTEK. 


131 


for the carriage, though another messenger 
had followed the first ; then Mr. Sheldon and 
the physician, assisted by two others, lifted 
the insensible man into the rude vehicle, and 
drove slowly away. 

It was near midnight when Mrs. Sheldon, 
who after a wearisome watch for her husband, 
had at length fallen asleep, was awakened by 
a pebble thrown against her window. She 
sprang from her bed, and there in the moon- 
light saw her husband beckoning to her to 
come below. 

“Becalm,” said he, entering cautiously. 
“ Where is Fanny?” 

“ Asleep, long ago.” 

“ That is right. I have been with her fath- 
er, who was taken suddenly and violently ill. 
I must remain with him through the night. 
Don’t be alarmed, I am well. I could not 
justify it to my conscience to leave him, even 
if he were not the father of our friend. 

‘ ‘ But how am I to tell her ? How can I ? ” 
urged poor, sympathising Louisa. 


132 


THE RETUKXIXG PliODIGAL. 


“ Go to bed, and try to get some sleep. I 
will come back in time to see to that. Poor 
girl I ” as she shivered and put her hands to 
her head. “ I am sorry to tell you all this. 
Now you shall get me a glass of wine, for I 
really am faint with these dreadful scenes, and 
I must be back at my post ; Mrs. Eay isn’t 
fit to be left with him. There she is crying 
and wringing her hands, and lamenting over 
him as if the most tender relations had existed 
between them.” 

Unfortunately for the carrying out of Mr. 
Sheldon’s plan, Fanny, greatly fatigued by 
her journey and the excitement of the evening, 
had fallen into a sound sleep the fore part of 
the night, and woke refreshed at an early 
hour. She rose, therefore, and after her usual 
bath, sat down to take advantage of this quiet 
hour for communion with her own heart. She 
reviewed God’s dealings with her, and with 
joy and gratitude confessed that thus far her 
afflictions had worked out her good. “ Yes,” 


Tm’S SISTER. 


133 


she marmured, “ I can truly say it has been 
good for me -that I have been aMcted. I 
can surely trust my heavenly Father that if 
he sees it necessary to send another stroke, he 
will send with it the consolations of his Spirit. 
Oh, if my father could be brought to the feet 
of his Saviour by the loss of all my property, 
how gladly would I surrender it ! ” 

Then after reading a portion of Scripture 
she knelt down and supplicated God’s favor 
in all the events of the day, — that if she were 
to be cast down, he would uphold her by his 
almighty strength — that he would tranquilize 
her thoughts, and give her grace in all her ac- 
tions to honor him before men. She prayed 
too that she might not bedifted up by foolish 
pride, now that her bodily infirmity was re- 
moved, and that at night she might lie upon 
her pillow with the assurance of Gcd’s love 
and blessing. 

Little Emma, who had shared her bed, was 
still asleep, so she went cautiously down to 


134 


THE RETURNING PRODIGAL. 


the parlor, when finding it earlier than she 
expected, she suddenly determined that she 
would select such articles of clothing from her 
trunks as she should need at once, and sur- 
prise her father by appearing at breakfast 
with him. 

She had just arrayed herself for her walk, 
and said good-bye to Ann in the kitchen, 
when she heard Mrs. Sheldon’s voice at the 
stair-way, softly calling “Evarts.” 

Surprised that he had already left his room, 
she answered the call, saying, “ good morn- 
ing, Louisa, I am glad of the opportunity to 
say good-bye. I knew you would understand 
why I should wish to go home early.” 

“ Have you seen Evarts, then?” said Loui- 
sa, in her nervous state, beginning to shed 
tears. 

“ No, not this morning. Did he wish to 
see me ? ” 

“ Yes, ye^ indeed. You mustn’t go till he 
comes home. He said expressly he should 
come and tell you himself.” 


Tm’s SISTER. 


135 


“ I don’t understand you,” faltered Fanny, 
now becoming really alarmed. “ Where is 
your husband ? ” 

Louisa tried to compose herself, and evad- 
ed a reply. 

“ Don’t be afraid to tell me all,” urged the 
poor girl, her countenance growing very pale, 
“ God will give me strength to bear it.” 

“ Your father is very, very sick. Evarts 
was with him all night.” 

Fanny sank down on the stair where she 
had been standing, and for a moment did not 
reply. But not in vain had she approached 
the mercy-seat. There rushed into her soul 
such an assurance of God’s love, and his will- 
ingness to bless . her and all dear to her, that 
when she lifted her eyes to her friend’s face, 
her whole countenance was illumined by a holy 
trust. 

“ If I do not see Mr. Sheldon,” said sh?, 
rising, ‘‘ tell him I am sure God will reward 
him for his kindness both to my father and to 


136 


THE RETURNING PRODIGAL. 


me. Now, dear Louisa, for my sake, and that 
I may not be anxious about you in addition to 
my other trials, will you promise me to lie in 
bed for several hours ? ” 

“ I had much rather be with you, but will 
do as you request. Kemember this is your 
home, and come to it as soon as you can.” 

Notwithstanding that Fanny was intensely 
anxious concerning her father ; yet the short 
walk from the parsonage to her own home, 
was one of the most delightful she had ever 
known. Never had she so realized the pres- 
ence of God and his readiness to answer 
prayer. Again and again, she repeated two 
lines of a hymn she had often sung : - 

“ This is the time to trust my God, 

And rest upon his arm.” 

Never had God appeared so glorious in his 
holiness, and yet so condescending in his love 
and pity toward the children of men. Earn- 
estly, more earnestly than ever she had done 
it before, she yielded herself, her friends, her 


TIM’S SISTER. 


137 


all, to his care, assured that whether joys or 
sorrows were her portion in this life, they 
would be what was for her best good. 

As she approached the house, she saw the 
sull^y of Dr. Clark standing before the gate. 
The outer-door was wide open, and she en- 
tered. Hastily throwing off her outer gar- 
ments, she went directly up the stairs, where 
in the room in which she had so long been 
confined, her father lay pale and haggard 
upon the bed. 

Mr. Sheldon started when he saw her, and 
tried to motion her back ; but she went toward 
the bed calmly, with a determined air, as 
if to say, “ this is my place and 1 shall never 
leave it.” 

Mr. Ray had during the night seemed utter- 
ly unconscious. When he came out of the 
dreadful fit in which his pastor had found him, 
he lay with his eyes closed, wholly exhausted. 
But when Fanny stooped forw«‘ird and kissed 
his damp forehead, he opened his eyes, and 


138 


THE KETXJRNING PRODIGAL. 


for a instant regarded her with a glance of af- 
fection. But this was quickly succeeded by 
an expression of such intense pain, that she 
turned from the bed to wipe away an unbid- 
den tear. 

The doctor beckoned her to follow him into 
the next room, where after her assurance that 
she was well enough to take care of her fath- 
er, received from him full directions for so 
doing. ^ 

It was not until much later in the day, Mr. 
Sheldon imparted to her the facts already 
known to the reader; and it was not until 
many months later that she knew of the mea- 
sures he had taken for the arrest of a man by 
the name of Blood, who was supposed to have 
dealt falsely in the black-art, by which he had 
enriched himself and impoverished his victim. 

It was now Fanny found the comfort of hav- 
ing kind friends. Mrs. Ray had a dropsical 
affection which caused her feet and Iciwer limbs 
to swell, and was therefore unable to go up 


Tim’s sister. 


139 


and down stairs without great j^ain. Mrs. 
Sheldon, though she could not gain her hus- 
band’s consent to be with Fanny, rode three 
miles to procure Ann’s sister, — a smart girl of 
sixteen, to assist her ; and many times in a 
day she sent over either to inquire for the 
sick man, or with some dainty she had pre- 
pared to tempt the appetite of her afflicted 
friend. 

Many of the neighbors too, came in and 
made a cheerful oJffer of their services. The 
thankfulness with which the young nurse ac- 
cepted their kindness, so different from the 
response of Mrs. Ray, that “ ’tisn’t likely we 
shall need help for the short time he’ll hold 
out,” quite won their hearts and made them 
still more anxious to serve her. 

Mr. Sheldon too, often visited the sick 
chamber, and never without whispering a few 
words to Fanny, which strengthened her in 
the hope that this sickness would be the means 
of eternal good to the poor suffering man. 


140 


THE EETURNING PROIIGAE. 


Once when the doctor feared a return of 
the convulsions, poor Fanny’s faith almost 
failed. She tore a slip of paper from a letter 
in her pocket, and wrote a few words which 
she gave her pastor as he was about to leave 
the room. They were simply these : “ Oh, 
do pray for him, for the health of his body, 
and the health of his soul ! ” 

For two days and two nights the devoted 
daugliter remained by his side, w^atching for 
the first return of consciousness. She felt no 
fatigue. Her whole soul was absorbed with 
the one engrossing desire that her father 
might, even at this eleventh hour, accept the 
pardon Christ offered him. Often when he 
seemed to be asleep, she leaned her head on 
his pillow, and with his hand clasped in hers, 
plead fervently for this great blessing. As 
he appeared to be sinking, she grew still more 
importunate, and besieged the mercy-seat with 
cries and groans of anguish. 

The second night was almost spent. She 


TBl’S SISTER. 


141 


stood gaziag into his pallid face, tears uncon- 
sciously streaming down her cheeks, when he 
suddenly opened his eyes, and in a faint voice 
repeated her name. 

“ Dear father,” she cried, “ I am here, 
your own loving Fanny.” 

He gazed in her face a moment with an ex- 
pression of pain, and then softly said, “All 
is lost ! Ail, all is lost ! ” 

Her heart gave one great bound of joy as 
she thought that at last he realized his lost 
and ruined state as a sinner. 

“No, father, no ! ” she exclaimed in a glad 
tone — “ not lost but found. God is willing 
to forgive you ; Christ is ready to embrace 
you, as the fruit of his death on the cross. The 
Holy Spirit yearns over you. Not lost, father, 
but found by redeeming love.” 

While she spoke he seemed perplexed, and 
tried to lift his hand to his head ; but when 
she had done, he murmured, “Yes, lost ! I 
have squandered it all.” 

She now understood him to refer to her 


142 


TUE EETUliXI-\G PliODlG^U^. 


property, and lifted her heart to God in prayer 
that he would put words into her mouth that 
she might win him from thoughts of this world 
to his own condition as a dying man* 

“ Dear father,” she cried, bathing his hand 
with the tears which rained from her eyes, 
“ Do not think of that now. I am well, and 
can earn my own support. I shall consider 
its loss the greatest blessing that ever happen- 
ed to me, if it will only lead you to think of 
his love that can be purchased without money 
and without price. Oh, do come to him ! 
Believe your dear daughter. Believe your 
departed wife. He is ready and willing to 
receive you. He will be more to you than 
fortune or friends.” 

“ And can you really forgive me, Fanny?” 

The words came forth trembling from the 
white lips. 

She leaned forward and kissed him repeat- 
ly. “ Even so, father, I forgive it all.” 

‘^And will God forgive me, too?” 

He gasped rather than spoke, and his da ugh- 


TBl’S SISTER. 


14a 


ter trembling from head to foot, answered 
earnestly, “ Yes, he has promised it. ‘ Come 
unto me,’ he says, ‘ Come all ye that are weary 
and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ ” 

He lay quiet for a moment with his eyes* 
closed, and then his lips moved. She bent 
ovQr him, but could only distinguish a word 
now and then. But she sent up a quick note 
of praise to God as she caught the words ‘ ‘ sin- 
ner” and “ pardon” and “ helpless.” 

He grew so pale that she feared his soul 
was passing away, and flew to the other side 
of the room for a few drops of brandy. It 
was with difllculty that he could swallow, and 
then he fell back and seemed to sleep from 
exhaustion. 

Fanny sat holding his hand, and thinking 
what a wonder of mercy it would be if God 
should answer that feeble, broken prayer, 
when he began to repeat in a more distinct 
tone, the precious words : 

“ Just as I am, without one plea. 

But that thy blood was shed for me, 

And that thou bid’st me come to thee, 

O Lamb of God, I come, I come !” 


CHAPTER Xm. 


CHKIST THE ONLY PLEA. 



) E repeated these words with an em- 
phasis which proved to his rejoicing, 
praying daughter, that they were the 
language of his heart ; then after a mo- 
ment’s pause, he said, ‘ ‘ I couldn’t begin 
to tell him what a sinner I have been all these 
long years.” 

“He knows it all, and will forgive it all 
for Christ’s sake,” whispered Fanny. 

“Yes, He knows it all, and will forgive it 
all,” he repeated slowly, as if pondering every 
, word. “ Can it be that Christ will intercede 
for me? How can I have a claim to his 
favor ? ” 

“ By acknowledging your need of it,” miu*- 
mured Fanny, making a great effort to con- 



145 


TOl’S SI8TER. 

trol her emotion. “ You know, dear father, 
we do not send for a physician until we con- 
fess ourselves to be sick ; so we don’t apply 
to Christ for pardon until we are ready to own 
that without it we are lost ; undone forever. 
Our Saviour gave himself up to the cruel death 
of the cross, that he might by taldng our sins 
become a mediator between sinful man and 
his offended God. All those who wiU accept 
the pardon thus offered to them, are freely 
forgiven for his sake.” 

He bowed his assent again and again, and 
then remained quiet so long, that overcome 
with her long watching, she fell asleep on his 
pillow. 

In this position her pastor found her about 
an hour later. A sweet smile was playing 
around her mouth as if even in her sleep she 
realized that the gracious Spirit was present. 

As he cautiously drew near the bed, Mr. 
Ray suddenly opened his eyes. It was the 
first time he had seemed to recognize his pas- 
OT, but now he called out in a clear voice, 


146 


CHKIST THE ONLY PLEA. 


“I have found a plea! I have found a 
plea! For Christ’s sake.” 

Mr. Sheldon was dumb with surprise. 

“ For Christ’s sake,” repeated the sick man. 
“ God can pardon all my sins.” 

“ And will pardon them.” 

“ Yes, for Christ’s sake, he will pardon all 
my sins. He knows them all.” 

Fanny, who had started to her feet at the 
first sound of his voice, tried to choke down 
her sobs, but the fountain was too full and 
would overflow. She hurried from the room, 
while. Mr. Sheldon fell on his knees by the 
bed-side to give thanks to God for his un- 
^ speakable gilt. 

“ Tell him only for Christ’s sake,” faltered 
Mr. Ray. “ I have no other plea — I want 
no other plea.” 

Through the day his mind seemed to rest 
upon this one idea — Christ’s willingness to 
save him, and the sufficiency of his plea, “ for 
Christ’s sake.” Many times when his daugh- 


Tim’s sister. 


147 


ter thought him sleeping, she caught the whis- 
pered words, ‘‘ that is all my plea ; vile, sin- 
ful as I am, I need no other. God for Christ’s 
sake, can and will pardon me. Just as I am, 
without one plea, but that thy blood was shed 
for me.” 

Then he would wake up with a smile, such 
as Fanny remembered in the days of her child- 
hood. He had never again adverted to his 
sin against his daughter in squandering her 
property, and she had not a thought upon the 
subject ; but one day he told Mr. Sheldon that 
he wished to see him alone, and begged Fanny 
to take some rest. 

During this interview, he confessed to his 
pastor that for months he had been at times 
in such agony of conviction on account of his 
sins, that he would resort to any means to 
drive them off. ‘ ‘ I tried to convince myself,” 
he said, “ that there was no reality in relig- 
ion. But I knew better. I was growing very 
hard when Fanny gave me a little note. I 


148 


CHEIST THE ONLY PLEA. 


have been bad enough, but I feel sure I should 
have been worse without it. Many a time 
when Tve been goaded almost to death by 
trouble in my business and contention in my 
family, I’d go up stairs by myself and read 
that little note. I seemed to cHng to it as my 
last hope ; but even that didn’t save me when 
temptation came. I consented, after much 
urging from my daughter, to use a part of her 
little fortune to set me up in business. Just 
at that time Blood came to ]^. I needn’t ex- 
plain all the particulars ; but after a while he 
persuaded me to visit his gambling saloon just 
for one night, he said. I was charmed, fasci- 
nated with the excitement. I longed for night 
to come. I had no more strivings of the 
Spirit, no more reproaches of conscience. I 
won large sums, and every thing looked as if 
I should soon be a man of independent means 
again. 

“ But at last the tide began to turn ; near- 
ly half of the sum Fanny lent me was lost, 


Tim’s sister. 


149 


and I told Blood I would venture no more. 
Then she sent for me to go to Philadelphia 
and accompany her home. I vowed to my- 
self I’d confess all to her, and be done with 
cards forever ; but on reaching N. , the first 
one I saw as I stepped out of the cars, was 
Blood. He called me mean and dishonorable 
to leave with my pockets full of money won 
from him. He ridiculed me, he sneered at 
my objections, he goaded me almost to mad- 
ness ; and at last I promised to meet him once 
and for the last time. I have now no doubt, 
there was a plan among them to ruin me — 
that they were convinced I should keep my 
word, and that night take leave of them for 
ever, and determined to fleece me while I was 
in their power. I have only an indistinct re 
membrance of that dreadful evening. I had 
but just parted from my daughter. I knew 
what was the dearest wish of her heart. I 
loved he]' more than my owm life ; and yet I 
was about to do what would make her miser- 


150 


CHlilST THE OXLY PLEA.. 


able. Do you wonder I was wretched? Do 
you wonder I drank glass after glass of some 
mixture my comrades urged upon me, in or- 
der to forget myself? ” 

“Oh!” said the poor man, when after a 
pause of overwhelming emotion, he again tried 
to go on with his story, “ what a wonder, 
a miracle of mercy I am, that Christ should 
still offer pardon and salvation, after that 
dreadful hour ; for then I deliberately turned 
from the voice of nature, the voice of con- 
science, the voice of God, all calling loudly 
upon me to beware, to take heed of my ways, 
to turn and live. Since I have lain here, I 
have often thought those poor wretches must 
have drugged my brandy, for it had an imme- 
diate effect to make me wild, reckless, almost 
ungovernable. I know I refused more, and 
that Blood laughed at my weakness, and urg- 
ed it upon me. While in this state they drew 
me to the table, where Blood and I began to 
-play. I lost the rest of what Fanny gave me. 


Tim's sisier. 


151 


and had sense enough left to say I had no 
more ; but again they sneered, called me a 
coward, and by some means induced me to 
put my name to a paper. I suppose it was to 
use the rest of her little fortune. By this 
time I was desperate, and remember noth- 
ing, except that some one shouted, ‘ he’s done 
for,’ and then there was a horrid din of laugh- 
ing and shouting, and I suppose I became in- 
sensible.” 

This account was not given without great 
exhaustion, many interruptions and groans of 
anguish, nor without many sympathising tears 
on the part of his hearer. 

Mr. Sheldon then informed him that he had 
immediately taken measures for the arrest of 
Blood, and by the advice of a lawyer had 
written to persons in S., where he had learned 
from Fanny that her money was jdaced, not 
to pay any orders until farther notice. 

All this time Fanny had seen but very little 
of her step-mother As long as she considered 


152 


CIliaST THE O^LY PLEA. 


her husband in a dying condition, she controlled 
her impatience, talked more freely than ever 
of her religious experience, and even shed 
some tears at the prospect before her of being 
a widow. But as Dr. Clark, when he came to 
the kitchen day after day, to prescribe for her, 
reported his patient to be no worse, she 
thought it quite time to relate her own griev- 
ances. Henceforth every one who came in 
was assured that she married Mr. Ray when 
she might have done much better, that she 
was moved to compassion toward the mother- 
less child, and that she had been most unhap- 
pily deceived in the character of her husband. 

Poor Lizzie avoided the kitchen as much as 
possible. It made her wretched to be oblig- 
ed to listen to all this, and to taunts about 
Fanny’s piety. She far preferred when there 
was nothing to be done for her young mistress, 
to sit on the stair close by the chamber door, 
and listen to the sounds within. She thought 
the Bible had never seemed so interesting as 


Tiil’s SISTER. 


153 


when in Fanny’s low, clear voice, she read to 
her father. She thought prayer had never 
seemed so much like a child’s talk to his Fath- 
er in heaven, as when Mr. Sheldon knelt by 
the bed, and poured out his heart before his 
Maker. 

But though this dutiful daughter had been 
prevented from personal intercourse with her 
step-mother, she thought much of her in her 
really suffering state of health, and longed to 
test her father’s new-born piety by the effect 
it would have on his feelings toward her. In 
the quiet chamber they could often hear her 
voice speaking loudly and irritably to persons 
below, and at such times Fanny could see that 
her father shut his eyes, and sometimes ap- 
peared to be engaged in prayer. 

One day when he was feeling more than 
usually comfortable, he asked Lizzie what 
Mrs. Eay was doing, and whether she would 
be able to come up, because, he added, “ if 
she is, I should like to see her a few minutes.” 


154 


emilST THE ONLY PLEA. 


The young girl wondering, went to carry 
the message, and presently they heard the 
woman slowly mounting the stairs, muttering 
that if he had anything to say, he might wait 
till he was well enough to come to her. 

Fanny was startled to see how ill she really 
looked, and set a chair for her near the bed, 
with anxious attention. 

Mr. Ray glanced at his wife, sighed deeply, 
and then motioning Lizzie from the room held 
out his hand to her. 

“ You look better’n I expected to see you,’* 
said she, scarcely knowing what to. say. 

“ And you look really ill, I am sorry to 
see,” he replied in a subdued voice, “ Do you 
see Dr. Clark every day ? ” 

“La, yes I but all the doctors in town 
couldn’t help me while I have such a weight 
on my mind.” 

He paused — he evidently was hesitating 
how to proceed. 

“ I suppose you’ve got quite use to walk- 


TBI’S SISTER. 


155 


ing about without your crutches,” remarked 
Mrs. Eay, turning to Fanny. 

“ Yes,” was the smiling answer, “ I am be- 
coming quite skilful in the use of this,” hold- 
ing up her high shoe . “At first my ankle turn- 
ed over very often.” 

“Sarah,” began the sick man, calling her 
by a name she had almost forgotten, “ as I 
may never have another opportunity, I want 
to tell you that I realize now that we might 
have lived much happier together if I had 
done my duty as a husband.” 

“ I wish you’d found it out afore,” she said, 
beginning to sob. “ You’ve a’most broke my 
heart with your temper and your moods. I’m 
sure if I hadn’t had religion to ha’ held me up 
as ’twere, I should ha’ been in my grave long 
ago.” 

Mr. Eay grew intensely pale, and shut his 
teeth firmly together. The old anger was 
rising in his heart. He paused to breathe a 
prayer for strength to resist this enemy, and 
then said softly. 


10(3 


CHRIST THE ONLY PLEA. 


“ Tm going to die soon, Sarah ; I leel that 
I cannot live many days. Will you forgive 
me that I have not set you a better example, 
and for all the unhappiness I have caused you ? 
It would greatly relieve my mind, lying as I 
do ommy death-bed, if you can tell me that.” 

The woman took her apron from her face, 
and gazed earnestly at him. She seemed for 
a moment to feel that perhaps she, too, might 
have some faults to confess, but after a search- 
ing glance, she said quickly, 

‘‘La, Mr. Ray, I shouldn’t a mite wonder 
if you got well and lived years y^t. I’ve seen 
people a sight worse’n you are, get round 
again.” 

“No, Sarah, that can never be. I feel cer- 
tain that I cannot live many days. I hope 
God has forgiven my numerous offences against 
him, and it would give me comfort to have 
you say, you forgive me.” 

The color flew into*her face ; she glanced al- 
ternately at him and at Fanny, who was weep- 


Tim’s sister. 


157 


ing behind the bed, and then said rather re- 
luctantly, 

“ Yes — I forgive yer.” 

“ Thank you,” said he again, extending his 
hand. 

“ ’Sposing you should be taken away, which 
to my mind don’t look at all likely, what ar- 
rangements have you made ’bout your affairs. 
Bein’ your wider, I oughter be looked after.’’ 

Mr. Kay groaned aloud, and Fanny exclaim- 
ed, ‘‘ Oh, mother, don’t talk so ! ” 

At this moment the doctor’s voice was 
heard below, and the woman slowly rose, and 
without another word, made her way down 
the stairs. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

TRIUMPH IN DEATH. 



|NLY once more was this subject refer- 
red to between father and daughter, 
and that was on the day following Mrs. 
Ray’s visit to the sick room. 

There is only one thing,” said he, 
“ in my married life, that I can reflect upon 
with pleasure. When my circumstances were 
good, I was in the habit of giving your step- 
mother a certain sum every week for family 
expenses. She complained after a time that 
it was not large enough. I gave her more, 
though wondering that my comforts should 
decrease when my expenditure was larger 
than ever before. It was nearly two years 
later I ascertained that she had always laid 
by a part of that sum, and placed it in the 


1 5 8 


TIM S SISTER. 


159 


hands of a brother, who gave her regular in- 
terest for it. Still, though aware of this, I 
continued the same allowance, and now am 
rewarded in knowing that she is not wholly . 
destitute.” 

The opinion of Dr. Clark confirmed that of 
Mr. Eay, concerning the shortness of the time 
allotted him on earth. His strength failed 
rapidly. The irritation in hi^ stomach in- 
creased so that he could retain no nourish- 
ment, and every symptom denoted approach- 
ing death. 

When Mr. Sheldon informed him of this 
fact, he answered, “ it is no news to me. I 
praise God that he has left me nothing to fear ; 
that his grace is sufficient for me. Yes,” he 
added with a strong emphasis, ‘‘ even for me, 
the very chief of sinners. If it were his will, 

I should have been glad to live long enough 
to honor my Saviour ; but I am ready to go 
when he calls for me. But, oh, if T could 
live mj^ life over again ; if I could have realiz- 


IGO 


TRIUMPH IN DEATH. 


ed as I do now, what a work Christ has done 
for sinners, how I would have sounded his 
name in the ear of every poor wretch — how 
I would have urged them to try his love, to 
taste his favor, and then see if husks would 
satisfy them.” 

It was scarcely day-light the next morning, 
when after a short doze he woke, and seeing 
his daughter sitting by him, said, “I feel 
much better. I am afraid my summons will 
not come to-day.” 

After a minute he said suddenly, “ Will 
you call Lizzie ? ” Then added, 

“Kun to Mr. Simon’s house, and to !Mr. 
Ball’s, and ask them to come to my chamber. 
Stay — call in all the neighbors, I have some- 
thing I must say to them. Be quick, or it 
will be too late.” 

Fanny became alarmed. In his eagerness 
her father had partially risen from his pillow, 
and his eyes were protruding from their sock- 
ets. She began to remonstrate, but he ex- 


Tim’s sister. 


161 


claimed : ‘ ‘ While I have strength let me tell 
the wondrous tale. Man a sinner — Christ a 
Saviour ! ” 

In a moment, he cried out, “ Eaise me up I 
Call Sarah ! Call your mother ! ” 

She ran to the head of the stairs, and in a 
voice which trembled from fear, summoned 
Mrs. Eay from below. 

“ Sarah, wont you come to Him?” he said 
earnestly, as she entered, “ throw away all 
your hopes of heaven which have never been 
strong enough to wean you from the world. 
Come to Jesus, he will give you the true 
peace. We can’t live in this world always; 
the doctor says you may not live long ; will 
you love Christ now ? Oh, what comfort it 
would give me to know that you would seek 
him ! ” 

“ Sarah,” he added, taking her hand, as she ‘ 
stood gazing at him in wonder, “ Eiches nev- 
er made us happy ; and now those are gone, 
and life is almost gone, think what have you 


162 


TRIIJMPH IN DEATH. 


to depend upon for eternity. God wont take 
fair words ; he looks into the heart. Ask 
yourself, when I am gone, if he sees his im- 
age there.” 

She burst out crying, and was turning to 
leave the room, when he called out, “ Fare- 
well, till we meet at the judgment-bar. Oh, 
Sarah, meet me at God’s right hand ! ” 

He closed his eyes, and for half an hour 
seemed to doze, but even in his sleep he mur- 
mured the names now more precious to him 
than all the world beside, “Jesus, my Sa- 
viour ! ” 

The noise of footsteps on the stairs arous- 
ed him. 

Fanny ran to the door with her hand up- 
raised, to enjoin silence. 

“Come in, friends!” he said, raising his 
voice. “ Come and hear a dying man tell 
what God has done for liis soul.” 

It was a strange spectacle — those harden- 
ed men roused at break of day from their 


Tim’s sister. 


163 


slumbers, some of them only half dressed, 
grouping themselves around that bed, on which 
lay one so lately strong and full of life, now 
standing where time with him was past, looking 
forward into eternity. 

Fanny, who was closely watching him, saw 
a slight spasm contract his features. 

“ Father,” she said, “ let them go, you are 
not able to see them.” 

He pointed to the cup, and she gave him a 
teaspoon full of brandy and water. 

“ God will give me strength,” he said, 
glancing from one to another : “ Friends, look 
at me. You see a man, a sinner, a vile, pol- 
luted sinner. You all know how I have 
lived. Some of you have known me from boy- 
hood. I tried to lead a moral life and climb 
into heaven that way. But I found that the 
path I was walking led to quite another place. 
Then I became desperate, and began to gam- 
ble. You all know how I came to be lying 
here. You, and you, and you,” pointing to 


164 


TRIUMPH IN DEATH. 


one and another, have been kind neighbors ; 
we have called each other friends ; but, would 
it be friendly for me to leave you walking 
over the brink of a precipice, and not warn 
you of your danger. No, it would not. I 
cannot part with you to-day, without implor- 
ing you to prepare for such an hour as this. 
You have tried living without God, and if you 
would speak the truth, you would say you 
have not found the happiness you expected. 
Come to Christ; accept as I have done, the 
ransom he shed his blood to give. Oh, don’t 
delay till you are on your death-bed. You 
may never have a death-bed. You may 
be struck down in the cars or in the streets. 
You may at any moment be called to stand 
before God . W ill you ?” — 

He sank back ; his eyes became fixed ; one 
great throe of expiring nature, one convulsive 
shudder, and his spirit fled away to its home 
in the skies. 

Fanny started forward with a shriek She 



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Tim’s sister. 


1G5 


laid her hand on his forehead. It was still 
moist and warm. But life had departed. 

The men, glancing at one another, slowly 
left the house of death. Only two remained, 
and those had grown up with him from boy- 
hood. Mr. Simons softly approached and 
laid his finger on the pulse of his friend. 

“ It will never beat again,” he said. 

Fanny threw herself upon the corpse and 
wept aloud. 

The men retired to the entry, and talked 
together in low solemn tones. Mr. Ball then 
returned and wiping his eyes, said softly, 
“ You’d better leave him with us now. He’s 
been a good friend to both of us and we’ll see 
that respect is paid to his remains.” 

Poor girl, she stared wildly at them. It 
seemed hard indeed, that she must be torn 
from him so soon. She could not realize the 
necessity for such haste. 

“It is best; indeed you must leave him 
with us,” urged Mr. Simons, re-entering. 


166 


TRITOIPil IX DExi-TH. 


With one lingering look she went out, shut 
herself up in her chamber, and locked the 
door. 

“ He has gone,” she cried, “ gone without 
one parting word, or even a glance to his 
poor, sorrowing child.” 

Throwing herself on the bed, she wept with- 
out restraint ; but after a time, overcome with 
her long, anxious watchings, she fell asleep. 

Vfhen she awoke, Mrs. Sheldon was bend- 
ing tenderly over her. She did not instant- 
ly remember what had occurred, and said 
quickly, “You here, Louisa? What has hap- 
pened ? ” 

But before she had finished speaking, her 
tears began to flow again, as she remembered, 
“I am an orphan.” 

Truly it is a sacred thing to weep with those 
who weep, and so Mrs. Sheldon felt it to be, 
as they sat side by side, — the poor weary girl 
with her head resting on her friend’s breast. 

“ Oh, how I wanted to see him once more ! ” 


TUVi’S SISTER. 


1G7 


the lady exclaimed at length. “Mr. Simons 
has been telling us of the wonderful scene this 
morning. He says he shall never forget it as 
long as he lives. He seems very deeply im- 
pressed.” 

“ God grant it may be the means of good,” 
sobbed Fanny. “ Dear father, all he regret- 
ted in his death was, that he could not do 
something to show his love for Christ.” 

After Mrs. Sheldon left her, poor Fanny 
stole into the darkened room, ail quiet now, 
and stood for a long time gazing upon the 
marble countenanance lying so peacefully in 
its last sleep. Reluctantly at last came the 
conviction, that to the living she now owed 
some duties. She reverently folded back 
the white covering, let fall the curtain, and 
went out. Pausing a moment at the head of 
the stairs, she heard the sound of weeping be- 
low, and with a heart almost sinking beneath 
her own load of grief, she slowly made her 
way to her mother’s room. 


CHAPTEE XV. 


THE PATIENT NURSE 


S OUR weeks later ^ we find Fanny still 
occupied in administering to the com- 
fort of her step-mother, who has had 



a long and dangerous illness. Fret- 


^ fui and complaining as her patient was, 
and disheartened almost beyond endurance, 
as the poor girl often felt ; yet she insisted 
that her place was by her mother’s side, and 
from this nothing could move her. 

But now Mrs. Ray was pronounced by the 
physician, able to be removed to her brother’s, 
with whom she was to live ; and her self-de- 
voted nurse, only the shadow of her former 
self, was to return for a while, to her friends 
at the parsonage. 


Tim’s sister. 


169 


During the month they had been so con- 
stantly together, Fanny had often tried to test 
the feelings of her step-mother on the subject 
of personal godliness. As I have already 
stated, Mrs. Kay could talk long and fluently 
upon the general subject of religion. To use 
her own expressions in the class-meetings, she 
would often declare that she could never have 
endured the trials of Ufe, without its “ beauti- 
ful, its happifying influence,” yet to those who, 
like her husband’s pastor, wished to talk with 
her of her own personal experience, she could 
give no reason for the hope that was in her. 

After the solemn, earnest appeal from her 
dying husband, to cast away all dependence on 
her own righteousness, and prepare to meet 
her God, the young girl noticed this one dif- 
ference, an unwillingness to talk at all upon 
the subject, and far more readiness to listen 
to others. Mr. Sheldon and his wife often 
visited her, and in the presence of the sick 
woman, discussed the subject so dear to them, 


170 


THE PATIENT NUKSE. 


in many of its bearings on the human heart. 
They insisted upon the Bible rule as a test of 
piety, “ by their fruits ye shall know them.” 
“ He that saith I know him, and keepeth not 
his commandments, is a liar, and the truth is 
not in him.” 

Always, after these calls, the young nurse 
found her patient more querulous and hard to 
please ; but for a long time she did not con- 
nect this with the influence of the subjects 
discussed. 

On this last day, Mrs. Bay seemed more 
softened than her daughter ever remembered 
to have seen her, and while Fanny sat by her 
side, tastefully arranging her mourning caps, 
and putting in order her wardrobe, she appear- 
ed struggling to conceal some tender feeling. 

At length, as the young girl held up the 
last one'before her, and said in quite a cheer- 
ful toile, “ There now, mother, your caps arc 
all finished, enough to last you for six months,” 
the sick woman suddenly covered her face 
and began to cry. 


TIM’S SISTER. 


171 


For a long time Fanny urged her to tell 
what gave her pain ; but she only shook her 
head. The caps were replaced in the box 
and carried to the entry with the trunks which 
were already packed, when she burst out, 

“ I’m sorry, Fanny, — I’ve felt a great while 
that I didn’t do my duty by yer ; nor what I led 
yer father to expect. I might ha’ had real 
co^ifort with yer, and p’raps yer father’d been 
alive now.” 

Here the sobs choked her voice, and this 
time her daughter wept with her. Presently 
she went on, 

‘ ‘ I s’pose I needn’t tell you I’ve got natur- 
ally an awful temper, and somehow my relig- 
ion don’t work on my disposition as ’t does on 
yourn. I may as well make a clean breast 
on’t, and tell yer right out, I ha’n’t been hap- 
py in my mind ever since your father died.” 

For the first time since she could remem- 
ber, Fanny approached her step-mother and 
voluntarily kissed her cheek. Her heart was 


172 


TflE PATIEXT ^’VESE. 


too full for words, but there rose from that 
small room a silent offering of gratitude to 
God, whose Spirit had touched this proud 
woman. 

it Why, child,” she went on greatly moved 
by this token of affection, “ never a night 
passes without yer father appearing bodily be- 
fore me. I lie in bed with my eyes shut, for 
now I know what to expect ; and there he 
stands right at the corner by the bureau. 
Sometimes he looks black in the face, just as 
he did when they brought him home in a fit, 
and tells me I’ve been dragging him down, 
down, ever since he married me ; but most al- 
ways he looks pale and strange, like the day 
he died, and keeps a calling out, ‘ Sarah, meet 
me at God’s right hand ! ’ I pull the bed- 
clothes over my head and stop my ears ; but 
the sound rings through the room till I’m 
ready to die with fright. Yer know, child, 
I’ve been a professor a great many years ; but 
somehow, I’ve never felt as your father did ; 


Tim’s sister. 


173 


not* yet as IVe beam say your own mother 
did when she came to die.” 

She looked earnestly in her daughter’s face, 
as if for comfort, and Fanny eagerly embraced 
the opportunity so long waited for, to urge 
the necessity of looking away from ourselves 
to the righteousness and sacrifice of Christ, 
for our salvation. In the plainest, but most 
afiectionate language, she begged her to be 
thorough in the work of self-examination, re- 
minding her that professing religion is not 
possessing it ; but to search her own heart, 
and as her dying husband had expressed it, 
see if she found the image of Christ reflected 
there. She begged her to ask herself such 
questions as these — “ does my religion, upon 
which I am building my hopes of heaven, lead 
me to my Saviour for communion with him ? 
Does it help me to perform my duties in all 
the relations of life ? Will it give me peace 
and support and joy, when I come to die?” 

As she repeated each of these questions, the 


174 


THE PATIENT NUESE. 


self-condemned woman mournfully shook her 
head. 

“ Then,” said Fanny, resolutely, suppress- 
ing her own emotion, ‘‘ if your religion neith- 
er gives comfort to you, nor honor to your 
Saviour, throw it away ; cast it off as worse 
than useless. It is what the Bible calls filthy 
rags. Come anew to Christ, who will clothe 
you with his own righteousness. The Spirit 
will help you to overcome all evil, and your 
soul will be filled with such peace as the world 
cannot give nor take away.” 

“ I do declare ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Ray, catch- 
ing a glimpse of a carriage through the win- 
dow, “ if there isn’t my brother come to carry 
me home. I never was sorrier to see him 
than I am this minute.” 

Fanny arose sighing heavily, and was about 
to leave the room, when her mother called 
out, 

“ Don’t breathe a word of what I told yer, 
to any living soul.” 


Tim’s sister. 


175 


“ And will you promise to think of what I 
have said, and read your Bible ? ” asked the 
young girl in an earnest, hurried manner. 

“Yes, ril promise. Now settle my cap 
right, will yer? James, he’s awful perticku- 
lar about caps. And so he is about every- 
thing. I sha’n’t have my way with him as I 
always did with Mr. Kay.” 

This last was muttered in an undertone, as 
Fanny was opening the door. 

When the carriage containing her mother- 
in-law, drove away, poor Fanny felt that now 
indeed her home was broken up. 

After her father’s funeral expenses had been 
paid, it was found that there was nothing left 
for his widow. The house was hired upon a 
lease, but as it stood on the most public street, 
she had easily found a person ready to take it 
off her hands. A few pieces of furniture had 
been selected by Mrs. Kay, to furnish her 
room at her brother’s, and Fanny still retain- 
ed those which had been her grandmother’s. 


176 


THE PATIENT NURSE. 


The rest was to be sold at auction to pay the 
expenses incurred during her father’s sickness, 
and that of her step-mother. 

Lizzie, the young servant girl, had remain- 
ed with Fanny until now, and had proved her- 
self a great comfort during her hours of trial 
and sorrow. 

Wearied and worn both in mind and body, 
poor Fanny sometimes felt that now her work 
was done, and it would be sweet to lie down 
by her father and niother in the village grave- 
yard. For her step-mother she had toiled 
even beyond her strength. She had labored 
for her conversion ; now she must leave her 
in the hands of God, praying that his Spirit 
might never forsake her until she was found 
humbled and penitent at the foot of the cross. 

Concerning herself and her own future, she 
had been far too much occupied to expend a 
thought. But now, as she sat alone by the 
fire, in the home of her childhood, on this last 
night of her stay there, she began to realize 


Tim’s sister. 


177 


that if her small fortune had been swept away, 
she must contrive some method of self-sup- 
port. She knew not at this time, of any 
measures Mr. Sheldon had taken to secure at 
least a part from the clutches of the gambler, 
but from her father’s words, “ all is lost,” she 
supposed even the house had been allowed to 
pass from his hands. 

Poor girl ! she sat for a long time indulging 
her grief at her lonely condition, shedding bitter 
tears at this early blighting of all her pros- 
pects. She even seemed to hear her grand- 
mother’s voice speaking in a chiding tone, 

“ It was not to enrich sharpers, Fanny, that 
I bequeathed to you all my little estate.” 

Many events combined to render this the 
darkest hour she had ever known. She sank 
down on a low cricket, and leaning her head 
on her departed father’s favorite chair, wept 
afresh. But not long was she left to mourn. 
Her Father in heaven was watching her, and 
presently began to suggest cheering thoughts 


178 


THE PATIENT NUPSE. 


to her mind. It seemed as if she heard an 
audible voice, saying, “ when my father and 
my mother forsake me, then the Lord will 
take me up.” There rushed into her soul 
such a sense of nearness to God who had thus 
promised to take her as his own child, that 
she could scarely contain herself. 

Then the thought occurred to her that her 
heavenly Father had already prej)ared her for 
self-support by curing her bodily infirmity, 
and various ways began to suggest themselves 
to her mind by which she might earn a com- 
fortable living. She Imew well, and thanked 
God for it, that her friends at the parsonage 
would gladly share their home with her ; but 
no, she never could be a burden to them. 
Mr. Sheldon’s salary was but just sufficient to 
supply their necessities, and there was an in- 
creasing family to be provided for. Hereto- 
fore she had often pleased herself with the 
idea of living with them, and by the sum she 
paid for board add something to their com- 
forts, but that was all past now. 


Tim’s sister. 


179 


It was near midnight when she knelt down 
there. by the light of the smouldering embers, 
and thanked God that while father and fortune 
had been taken from her, his kindness and 
love still remained unchangeable. 

She quite startled Lizzie as she crept cau- 
tiously past her door on the way to her own 
chamber. As she lay down on her pillow 
that night, she matured a plan for the future, 
which must, however, be reserved till the 
next chapter. 


CHAPTER XVr. 


fanny’s new home. 



RS. SHELDON at this time was in 
' very delicate health, and therefore, 


tier young friend postponed from day 
to day, the announcement of the new 
plan which she was sure would meet 
with violent opposition. But the more she 
thought of it, the more she was sure she was 
in the right, and she only waited a convenient 
opportunity to commence her new business of 
dress-making. For this her native taste and 
her self-acquired skill well fitted her ; and as 
during her visit in Philadelphia, a fashionable 
dress-maker had spent more than a week in 
the house making up dresses for Mrs. Hamil- 
ton and her daughters, she had obtained many 
hints which she now foresaw she could turn 
to good account. 


80 


TBi'S SISTEPt. 


181 


She had been at the parsonage a fortnight ; 
had quite recruited her strength, and renewed 
her acquaintance with her young friend Emma, 
and now thought it high time to mention her 
contemplated undertaking. So as Mrs. Shel- 
don was rather more comfortable than usual, 
she improved the opportunity while they were 
busily employed with their needles, and Emma 
playing near them with her toys, to say, 

“ Do you know, Louisa, I am going to be 
a dress-maker ? ” 

‘ ‘ I think you are already. I have several 
garments both of my own and Emma’s in 
proof of the fact. I only wish you could cut 
coats as well, for Evarts sadly needs a new 
one.” 

This was said with a laugh, not dreaming 
of any seriousness in the case. 

“ But really, Louisa,” urged the young girl, 
blushing painfully, “ I am intending soon to 
be one in earnest ; to enter upon the business 
for my support.” 


I 


182 fanny’s new home. 

“ Nonsense ! ” cried the lady, dropping her 
work and gazing into the flushed face before 
-her,- “ when Evarts and I both, so cordially 
ofier you a home. I am sure you . wouldn’t 
treat me so ill, and just now when I am de- 
pending so on you for company, and Emma 
gets along so finely under your care, I don’t 
esteem it kind at all for you to think of such 
a thing.” 

She had gradually wi*ought herself up into 
a state of excitement, and only by an efibrt 
restrained her tears. 

“ Dear Louisa, don’t feel so. I wanted to 
talk with you calmly about it. You know 
there is a necessity laid upon me to exert my- 
self. If I should be ill, I have little to pay 
the expenses of sickness, and I cannot expect 
to find another Dr. B. I had looked forward 
to being a member of your dear family ; but 
it was when I thought I could be a profitable 
one.” 

“ You know,” exclaimed Mrs. Sheldon, in 


Tim’s sister. 


183 


a reproachful tone, “ that neither Evarts nor 
I ever thought of such a thing. You know 
how impatiently I waited for Mrs. Ray to be 
well enough to be carried away, and that Ev- 
arts comforted me by saying, that after she 
left you would be all our own. You Imew all 
this ; and yet, Fanny, you have been deliber- 
ately making a plan to go away.” 

The tears which had been held back, now 
flowed freely. Poor Fanny was distressed be- 
yond measure, and but for the conviction 
that Mrs. Sheldon’s better judgment was in- 
fluenced by the peculiar state of her health, 
she would have promised at once to relinquish 
her project. 

“ Dear Louisa,” she began in a trembling 
voice, “ If you and your husband are so gen- 
erous as to forget the shortness of your purse, 
it is so much the more necessary for me to 
remember it. I know that even one person 
adds considerable to the expense in a family, 
and I cannot consent for any length of time — 


184 


fanny's new home. 


“ Didn’t you hear Evarts say this morning, 
that you scarcely eat more than the pigeons ? ” 
inquired her companion indignantly ; ‘ ‘ and I 
am sure there is nothing else you will allow any 
one to do for you except to put on an extra 
plate and cup. This gives Ann more pleasure 
than all her other duties. I can’t sew any 
now,” she added, folding her work. “ You 
have set me into a dreadful headache. Evarts 
wouldn’t believe it if I should tell him how 
you’d been treating me.” 

“ Evarts can scarcely credit the evidence 
of his own senses,” said a cheerful, manly 
voice from the hall. “ TYhat can it be ; this 
dreadful treatment which calls for such a 
heart-rending tone ? ” 

One glance at the friends told him this was 
by no means a joke. Louisa sat holding her 
hand to her head, her flushed countenance ex- 
pressing both grief and resentment. 

Fanny was sitting on the opposite side of 
the room trying in vain to steady her hands to 


TBl’s SISTER. 


185 


her work, upon which large tears were con- 
tinually dropping. When Mr. Sheldon came 
in she rose hurriedly to leave ; hut his wife 
said, “Don’t let her go, Evarts. This had 
better be settled at once. I shall never be 
easy in mind till it is.” 

But Fanny was far too much distressed by 
her friend’s opposition to be able to remain, 
and Mr. Sheldon, wondering whether she had 
been charging his wife with stealing, or his 
wife had been charging her, sat down to hear 
the story, he saw she was so impatient to tell. 

“ Wait one moment only,” said he, sud- 
denly running below and overtaking Fanny, 
just as she was closing the door to the sitting- 
room. 

‘ ‘ I have not the most distant idea what has 
passed,” said he huriedly. “ It is only justice 
to Louisa to remind you that she is not strong 
now, and that she has never wavered in her 
attachment to you, whatever she has said to 
distress you.” 


186 


fanny’s new home. 


Fanny could only answer with her tears, 
and presently she heard him shutting the door 
of the sewing-room. 

Finding that she could not readily compose 
her thoughts, and really calling herself un- 
kind in her treatment of so d«ar a friend, she 
summoned Emma, and started out for a walk. 
When she returned an hour or two later, Mr. 
Sheldon came smiling from his study, and ac- 
companied her at once to his wife’s room. She 
had been reclining on the couch, but now sat 
up wearing a cheerful face. 

‘ ‘ Did Evarts tell you it’s all settled ? ” she 
said eagerly. ‘‘ I was so foolish not to think 
of it myself. I only wish you had an Evarts. 
Everybody needs one. He plans so nicely. 
We’ve consented to the plan.” 

Mr. Sheldon laughed aloud. “I believe 
our consent was not asked,” he remarked. 

“ Well, it ought to have been. Fanny is 
far too 3mung to be making plans for herself, 
and you know I have. adopted her as my eld- 
est daughter.” 


Tim’s sister. 


187 


They all laughed now, and Emma jumped 
up and do'wm in her glee. 

“ So weVe concluded to let you make 
dresses or bonnets or coats, just as you fancy, 
only on one condition — you must always 
make them here. Evarts soon convinced me 
I was growing selfish,” she went on as Fanny 
was too much moved to reply at once. “ He 
reminded me that by and by, you’d want 
dresses and bonnets for yourself, and though 
we should be so glad to purchase them for 
you, unfortunately we’re rather poor. So he 
proposed that plan, and I saw at once it would 
do nicely. Your room looks so prettily now, 
that your furniture is in it, that you can take 
all the ladies up there, and so it’s all settled, 
isn’t it ? ” 

“Yes, it is settled, dear Louisa, this first 
and last difference between us. I am sure 
God will afford me some way to return the 
kindness of such generous friends.” 

Louisa then called her for a kiss, which ex- 


188 


fanny’s new home. 


ampl<.‘ Emma immediately followed, and IVIr. 
Sheldon shook hands with her most heartily, 
and thanked her for conforming to their wish- 
es, and thus the matter was settled, at least, 
for the present. 


CHAPTEE XVn. 



THE pastor’s sorrow. 

) OE several weeks following this con- 
versation, Mrs. Sheldon was increas- 
' ingly ill. The next day she rode with 
i her husband to a distant part of the 
town, to visit a sick parishioner, and 
sat in the carriage while he went in and made 
a prayer. When she reached home she was 
thoroughly chilled ; and this was succeeded 
by a violent attack of influenza. 

At the end of three months from the time 
Fanny came to them, she grew suddenly worse, 
and after giving birth to a little boy she quiet- 
ly breathed out her soul to God. 

To her husband tliis afliiction was over- 
whelming. Though she had often talked with 




190 


THE PASTOK’S sob row. 


Fanny of the uncertainty of all earthly expec- 
tations, and in various ways had endeavored 
to convince her that she considered her own 
condition alarming ; yet to her husband she 
had never breathed such a suspicion until the 
hour he was called in to see her expire. 

Her head was lying on his breast that she 
might breathe more easily, while her eyes 
Avere fixed calmly on his face. 

“ Evarts,” she whispered, “ you have been 
a precious husband to me ; but now I must 
leave you. I know you will mourn. I love 
to think you will miss me, but don’t mourn 
too much. You know there is a mansion pre- 
pared for me, and I shall be happy with my 
Saviour. ‘ I know in whom 1 haA^e believed.’ ” 

His breast heaved as he gazed at her, lying 
even now in the cold embrace of the giim 
messenger who stood near, awaiting his vic- 
tim. 

“ I never thought I could be so calm at 
such an hour,” she added after a pause, dur- 


Tim’s sister. 


191 


ing which her husband repeatedly pressed his 
lips on her damp forehead. “ How true it is 
that God gives dying grace to his children 
when they need it. I used to dread the 
thought of dying ; but now it only seems like 
going home to my Father and my Saviour.” 

“ Fanny,” she said, as she heard her weep- 
ing bitterly, “ I want you to write my pa- 
rents and sisters ; give my parting love to 
them ; and tell Dr. B., I always loved him for 
his kindness to you. And I want you to 
promise me to take my baby-boy for your 
own, if God should spare his life. I hoped 
that if it was His will to have my little one 
with me in heaven ; but He knows what is 
best. I want you to be all that you have been 
to darling Emma. I should like to think of 
her as being taught by one who loved her 
mother, — but He knows what is best — I will 
leave it to Him.” 

Ann was called to the bed and received the 
thanks of her young mistress, for her faithful-, 


192 


THE pastor’s sorrow. 


ness in the discharge of her duties, and then 
the dying wife lay quietly awaiting her sum- 
mons to depart. Her countenance was so 
tranquil, like a tired infant going to its rest, 
that it was difficult to tell exactly when she 
ceased to breathe. 

At length, Mr. Sheldon, struck by the pro- 
found stillness, started forward and placed 
his fingers on her pulse, when with one cry of 
anguish, he rushed from the room and shut 
himself in his study, that he might pour his 
grief into the sympathising ear of his Saviour. 

Four days later, the funeral services were 
held in the church. The dying wishes of Mrs. 
Sheldon were fulfilled, and the little bud was 
transplanted to bloom in the paradise of God. 
Poor Fanny’s heart ached afresh that she was 
called to give up her precious charge. Among 
the large concourse of people assembled to 
pay a tribute of respect to the memory of 
their pastor’s wife, few could look upon the 
young mother and infant arrayed for the tomb. 


Tim’s sister. 


193 


without a tear of regret that her labors among 
them had ceased forever. 

The pallid countenance and sunken eyes of 
the pastor, proved to all how heavily the blow 
had fallen upon him, but not even his dearest 
friends could enter the sanctuary of his grief, 
or realize to what a conflict the walls of his 
study bore witness, before he could adopt 
the inspired words, “ the Lord gave and the 
Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name 
of the Lord.” But at last, by divine gTace 
he came ofl" conqueror, and appeared before 
his people, “like silver refined in the fur- 
nace.” 

Mr. Hamilton and his two daughters remain- 
ed for a few days after the funeral, until some 
arrangements could be made for his comfort. 
But when they consulted Mr. Sheldon, he re- 
marked, that for some months he feared he i 
should not be able to preach, and therefore, 
was about to propose to his people, that 
he should have leave of absence, and go 


194 


THE pastor’s sorrow. 


abroad. He readily consented to Emma’s re- 
quest that while he was away her little name- 
sake should be confided to her care. Of any 
arrangement beyond the present, he could 
not even think for a moment. 

In the mean time, Fanny, though often 
obliged to retire to her own room to struggle 
with the sorrow which almost overwhelmed 
her, went quietly on in the performance of the 
duties she has of late assumed in the family. 
Under her careful supervision the pastor lost 
none of his usual comforts, while his guests 
were hospitably entertained. 

Coming suddenly upon her one morning, as 
she was assisting Ann in preparing breakfast, 
and seeing her pale, wan countenance, the 
proof of a sleepless night, he seemed to realize 
her value at such an hour. 

“ Fanny,” said he, in an unsteady tone, “I 
fear we have been selfish in our grief. You 
ought not to be left with so much care.” 

With one quick glance into his sorrowful 


Tim’s sister. 


195 


face, she answered softly, “ I tind it a bless- 
ing, to have some employment.” 

The parish readily complied with Mr. Shel- 
don’s proposition, and realizing the value of 
his services, voted that they would supply the 
pulpit during his absence of eight months, and 
allow his salary to go on as usual. 

At his request also, Emma Hamilton re- 
mained until his speedy arrangements could be 
completed, and thus he was able to offer Fan- 
ny a home until the moment of his departure. 
Indeed he wished her to remain with Ann, in 
his house during his stay abroad ; but though 
he urged many reasons for her compliance, 
such as the better state of the parsonage on 
his return, and his necessity of packing away 
many articles unless she did so, she firmly 
refused. 

To his proposition, however, that she would 
teach the class of young ladies in the Sabbath 
School to whom he had occasionally given in- 
struction, and would visit among the sick and 


196 


THE pastor’s sorrow. 


afflicted, she yielded a ready assent, delight- 
ed that she could in this case accede to his 
wishes without violating what she felt to be 
the laws of propriety. 

Mr. Sheldon delayed his journey two days, 
though he did not inform her of the fact, in 
order to receive answers to his letters con- 
cerning the state of her property, and was re- 
warded by being able to put into her hands 
one hundred dollars as interest on what was 
still left her, the last quarter for her house- 
rent not being quite due. 

Fanny was now in her nineteenth year, 
though more mature than most young ladies 
of that age. The sickness and sorrow through 
which she had passed, had been blessed to 
her rapid advancement in the Christian graces. 
She was eminently humble, prayerful, and de- 
sirous of honoring her Saviour ; of following 
his footsteps in doing good. 

She had already engaged board in the fami- 
ly of one of their own parish, having for some 


Tim's sister. 


197 


time hesitated whether to remain in N., or re- 
turn to her old home in S. 

Mr. Sheldon, however, recommended this 
place so highly, and was so earnest to be as- 
sured that she would be comfortably situated, 
that she concluded to make N. her home for 
the present. 

And now came the parting between her and 
the loved husband of her deceased friend. 
Emma clung to her neck, just beginning to 
understand that dear aunt Fanny was to be 
left behind, and quite resolute that she would 
not go even to dear grandpa’s, unless aunty 
could go with her. ' 

Mr. Sheldon, after trying in vain to soothe 
her, turned suddenly from the painful scene, 
for Fanny too, was weeping bitterly, and did 
not come back until the energetic Miss Ham- 
ilton had removed her by force to the car- 
riage which was in waiting. Fie then ap- 
proached the sobbing girl, and giving her his 
hand, said tremulously, “ God bless you for- 


198 


THE pastor’s sorrow. 


ever, Fanny, for the comfort you have been 
to me and mine.” 

She raised her sorrowing eyes to his, tried 
to articulate some words, received a warm 
. pressure of the hand, and was left alone. 


CHAPTER XYm. 


THE WORLDLY PROFESSOR. 

HOUGH our young friend was now 
relieved from the fear of absolute 
want, and knew that with strict ecoii' 
omy she could live upon what still re- 
mained of her little fortune, yet she 
determined to enter at once upon her new 
business of dress-making’. 

After the opposition of Mrs. Sheldon, she had 
never again proposed leaving the parsonage ; 
indeed Louisa’s failing health would have been 
sufficient reason for her not doing so, but in 
order to satisfy her friend, she had undertaken 
a few dresses in her own room. These had 
given such complete satisfaction, that Fanny 
had only to announce her readiness to take 
work, in order to have as much as she could 
accomplish. 



200 


THE WORLDLY PROFESSOR. 


]\lost ladies find it a great convenience to 
have a dress-maker in their own houses, and 
thus our friend found herself early one pleas- 
ant morning, seated in the chamber of a lady 
by the name of Scott — the materials for a 
rich dress lying on the table before her. 

She had not left her chamber without an 
earnest prayer to her heavenly Father that he 
would guard her lips from evil-speaking and 
tale-bearing, to which her employment par- 
ticularly exposed her. 

At first, it was rather difficult for her, with 
her mind ever reverting to the sorrowful 
scenes through which she had so lately passed, 
to give sufficient attention to the difierent 
fashions for cutting and trimming which Mrs. 
Scott was so warmly discussing ; but know- 
ing that if she would do her duty to God, she 
must be faithful to her business, she resolute- 
ly entered upon the task before her, and soon 
convinced her employer that her taste was as 
exquisite as her judgment was good. 


Tim's sister. 


201 


Before the day is over, Fanny is puzzled to 
know whether it can he true that Mrs. Scott 
is a professor of religion. As they sit togeth- 
er busy at their work, the young girl tries to 
draw her into an expression of her feelings. 
But most skilfully are all such efforts evaded, 
and the conversation kept upon the different 
styles of dresses, mantillas, bonnets, &c., 
which the ladies of her acquaintance have pat- 
ronized. Every faculty of her mind seems to 
be absorbed in this important subject, and her 
young dress-maker for the first time learns 
the valuable lesson, that with Mrs. Scott and 
such as she, the worth and standing of a lady 
is estimated by the style and richness of her 
dress. 

As she slowly folded her work for the night, 
there was a. vague feeling of dissatisfaction 
with herself. Her expectations had not been 
realized ; and not all the warm enconiums be- 
stowed by Mrs. Scott, who declared that she 
had never found a dress-maker who gave her 


202 


THE WOELDLY PROFESSOR. 


such (jntire satisfaction, could convince her 
that she had done all her duty. 

“ I have not let my light shine,” she said to 
herself, as she bent her steps homeward. 
“For any influence which I have exerted, I 
might as well have been an atheist or an in- 
fidel.” 

It seemed refreshing to banish all thoughts 
of sleeves, bodies and flounces, to feel the 
cool evening breeze fanning her brow, and 
realize that her heavenly Father sees into her 
heart, and judges her not by her actions only, 
but by her motives. Fanny knew it was her 
cherished desire to carry her religion into her 
daily life — to show those around her that it 
was the governing principle of her conduct. 
This day’s experience taught her that she 
should not always find persons ready to sym- 
pathise with her, or respond to expressions -of 
religious sentiments. 

While they sat at breakfast the next morn- 
ing, a messenger came from Mrs. Scott re- 


TIM’S SISTER. 


203 


questing Miss Ray, if not too inconvenient, to 
postpone finishing her dress for one day, as 
her daughter who was away at school, had 
suddenly returned in consequence of sickness. 

Fanny, who had promised Mr. Sheldon that 
she would not confine herself steadily to her 
new employment, determined to take advan- 
tage of this opportunity to visit two or three 
sick persons her pastor had left in her care. 

It was one of the most delightful day’s ex- 
perience which she had ever known. She 
read the Bible to an aged sufierer, whose heart 
was hungering for the bread of life. She 
soothed the sorrows of a young girl who had 
been bereft of father and mother. She ming- 
led her tears with many who were weeping 
over the loss of their spiritual guide. She 
pointed a poor youth, fast sinking under dis- 
ease, to the great and good physician, and 
kneeling by his bed-side, supplicated for him 
the richest of heaven’s blessings, even eter- 
nal life, through Christ our Lord. 


204 


THE WORLDLY PROFESSOR. 


She reached home just in time for tea, 
wearied in body but strengthened and refresh- 
ed in spirit. In the evening she commenced 
a journal in compliance also, with the request 
of her absent friend, in which she kept an ac- 
count of the visits she made among the peo- 
ple, and the state of mind in which she found 
them. This she was to transmit to him as 
opportunity might occur. 

The next morning she returned to the resi- 
dence of Mrs. Scott. She had incidently 
learned that this lady was a member of 
Mr. Sheldon’s church, and determined that 
she would if possible on this occasion obey 
the inspired command, and stir up the lady’s 
mind by way of remembrance. 

“ Yes, I am a member of the church here,” 
answered the lady in an absent manner, as 
Fanny reverted to the fact. “I joined be- 
fore I was married.” 

The young dress-maker’s heart beat high. 
She was jiist about to remark that a blessing 


TEVI’S SISTER. 


205 


was pronounced upon those who choose God 
in their youth, when Mrs. Scott said sudden- 
ly, “I like the style in which you have trim- 
med the sleeves better than the pattern. See 
how becomingly it falls over the arm, showing 
a little of the wrist and not too much.” 

Presently, Marion, the sick daughter, low- 
ered into the room, and without waiting for 
an introduction to Fanny, threw herself lan- 
guidly on the lounge. 

She started up again and blushed, as her 
mother said, “ My dear, didn’t you see Miss 
Eay ? ” and she met those large earnest eyes 
fixed wistfully upon her. 

For more than an hour she lay watching 
those busy fingers as they skilfully plaited or 
folded trimming for her mother’s dress . There 
was a perfect fascination to her in those occa- 
sional glances which the young dress-maker 
directed to herself, and in the low musical 
voice which ever and anon replied to some re- 
mark. 


206 


THE WORLDLY PROFESSOR. 


At length, the lady was called from the 
room, and left advising Marion to return to 
her bed. 

But this the young Miss quickly refused, 
saying, “ I feel a great deal better here, 
mother, where I can see what is going on.” 

* “ Can I do anything to make you more com- 
fortable ? ” asked Fanny, after a quick thought, 
“ now perhaps I can say a word for Christ.” 

“ There is one thing I should like,” was the 
blushing reply, “ but perhaps it would be too 
much trouble. I have heard you sing in the 
choir, and should admire to hear a tune now.” 

Fanny smilingly assured her, she would 
gladly give her pleasure if it would not dis- 
turb her mother down stairs.” 

She then commenced the tune set to these 
words ; 

“ Come, ye disconsolate.” 

How sad your voice sounds,” said Marion 
with a sigh. “I could scarcely keep from 
cr3dng. Now will you please to sing a livlier 
one ? ” 


Tim’s sister. 


207 


A tear rose to Fanny’s eye, as she glanced 
at her black dress. 

“No, don’t,” cried the young girl, “I mean, 
I ought not to have asked you.” 

“ The words I sang,” answered Fanny after 
a moment’s pause to arrange her work so that 
she could talk without interrupting her sew- 
ing, “ are not sad to me. They point us to 
the only true source of comfort. I suppose 
you expect to have trials sometime as well as 
the rest of mankind ; and this tells us where 
to find comfort in our sorrow.” 

“ I don’t see any use in thinking of gloomy 
things when we are not obliged to,” urged 
Marion with a heightened color. ‘ ‘ People that 
are pious are always thinking about death, 
and such dreadful subjects. I suppose I shall 
have to attend to the subject and join the 
church sometime, if I want to go to hea»ven 
when I die ; but I mean to enjoy myself just 
as much as I can, while I am young.” 

“It is right for us to wish to enjoy our- 


208 


THE WORLDLY PROFESSOR. 


sdves,” was the earnest reply, “ but in order 
really to do that, we must feel that we possess 
the favor of God. I am sorry you think Chris- 
tians are gloomy. I had two dear friends 
who were devoted to their Saviour, who were 
the most cheerful persons I ever knew.” 

“ Well, I never met any such. Miss Nor- 
ris, one of our teachers, belongs to the church, 
and she’s the most disagreeable person in the 
whole establishment. She is just as stiff and 
set in little things, that are neither good nor 
bad, and always delights to catch any of us 
tripping. I do believe she thinks nobody will 
get to heaven but herself. I’m sure I hope I 
sha’n’t have much of her company there. I 
know one thing, if she don’t lie or steal, she 
bears false witness, and all the scholars know 
it too.” 

“•Then, Marion, just as far as she does those 
things, she does not act out her rehgion. She 
just proves that she has need of the softening, 
purifying influences of the gospel. Christ’s 


Tim’s sister. 


209 


teachings enjoin love, charity, and good-will, 
in all the relations of life ; and if we do not 
act according to his commands, we show that 
we are verj^ imperfect disciples. I think you 
yourself understand that it is not the way to do 
honor to a friend to render him and his teach- 
ings as disagreeable as possible. So if we 
wish to honor Christ, we must make our re- 
ligion pleasing, in the hope of winning others 
to the cross.” 

“Well, I never was acquainted with any 
such. I mean those who really cared much 
about it. Now, Ma is a professor, and she’s 
real lively. She says she considers it a duty 
to be so, for Pa’s sake and mine. When she 
joined the church she was very young, and 
says she had no idea of all she should have to 
give up. So those must take the responsibil- 
ity who urged her in. There’s time enough 
to give up parties and balls when she’s a good 
deal older. Isn’t that your opinion, Ma?” 
she inquired, with an arch glance as she saw 
her mother lingering in the entry. 


210 


THE WORLDLY PROFESSOR. 


“ Nonsense, child ! ” exclaimed the lady an- 
grily. “You don’t know what you’re talking 
about. Do you want me yet?” she asked, 
turning to Fanny. 

“ Yes, ma’am, I am ready any time. I 
have the sleeves almost finished too ; perhaps 
I had better put them in first.” 

The lady took up the work and looked much 
pleased. “ I heard Marion’s tongue running 
so incessantly,” she said, “ that I was afraid 
you couldn’t accomplish much.” 

“Oh, no indeed; she hasn’t hindered me 
in the least,” replied Fanny, glancing at her 
young companion with a pleasant smile. 
“ She has given me one good lesson which I 
hope I shall always remember; and that is, 
that Christians in order to honor Christ and 
win others to his service, must be cheerful and 
consistent.” 

“ That is my doctrine exactly,” remarked 
the lady with much complacency. 

“You need not have been so angry, then. 


Tim’s sistee. 


211 


Ma, for that was what I was just telling her? 
Pa says your religion will never harm anybody. 
It isn’t strong enough.” 

She laughed aloud, and her mother laugh- 
ed; though she said, “do be still, child!” 
but Fanny sighed deeply, and rose from her 
seat to cut work at the table, to hide the pain 
such remarks gave her. 


I 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE FiVULTS OF CHRISTIANS. 

^^^OXGER acquaintance with Mrs. Scott 
^jjjl proved her to be one of that class of 
professors whose lives, according to a 
late writer, seem to be a standing apol- 
^ ogy for their being in the church at all ; 
who seem to consider their going to meeting 
and paying outward attention to religion a 
hind of penalty they must incur for the sake 
of getting into heaven when they are obliged 
to leave the world. 

For a long time after she retired to rest the 
night following her work at Mrs. Scott’s, Fan- 
ny lay revolving plan after plan, whereby she 
could interest her and the lively Marion in the 
things pertaining to their everlasting peace. 

2J2 



Tim’s sistee. 


213 


“ I can pray for them at least,” she said at 
length, “ and perhaps during my next en- 
gagement I can show them that Christians are 
not always gloomy and disagreeable. Oh, why 
is it?” she thought, “ that those who really 
love Christ and wish to advance his cause, do 
not make more earnest endeavors to root out 
sin from their own hearts, that they may pre- 
sent themselves before the world richly en- 
dowed with the fruits of the Spirit, — laith, 
hope and charity.” 

The next morning found our young dress- 
maker bending her steps toward the residence 
of Mrs. Thomas, a lady who had long knovTi 
and loved her own mother. The cordial grasp 
and the pleasant “good morning, my dear,” 
of the kind lady, seemed to expand her heart 
at once ; and acting upon her new formed res- 
olutions, she returned the salutation in a more 
cheerful tone than was her wont of late, then 
gave her attention for a few moments to th^ 
smiling group of children gathered to meet the 
stranger. 


214 


THE FAULTS OF CHRISTIANS. 


But before she had been in the house an 
hour, Fanny ceased to feel like a stranger. 
She found her first duty was to fit dresses for 
the little girls, Kose and Florence, a pair of 
sweet-tempered twins. Mrs. Thomas had as 
yet, no experience in Fanny’s skill, and wise- 
ly concluded to allow her to commence with 
the children, before she had a rich black silk 
fitted for herself. 

Unlike Mrs. Scott, this lady seemed to care 
little who of the fashionables, as she termed 
them, had their dresses cut in this style or in 
that. From the prevailing modes she select- 
ed such as she considered comfortable and 
tasteful, was particular to have the garment 
fit the figure as neatly as possible, in order, 
she explained to Fanny, with a smile, “ that 
when it is completed, I may bestow upon it 
no more care nor thought.” 

Eose being a few hours older than her sis- 
ter, shyly approached, glancing up from her 
long lashes to see the lady whose mother was 


tim’s sis tee. 


215 


once a little girl with her mother, and used to 
play at dollies with her. 

Fanny’s winning manner always ensured her 
the love of the children, so that by the time 
Kose was dismissed, Florence was quite impa- 
tient to take her place. 

When the dresses were cut and basted, they 
were laid aside to be sewed with a machine ; 
and Mrs. Thomas fully satisfied as to the com- 
petence and good judgment of her young 
friend, brought forward her own dress. 

“ It is an expensive silk,” she remarked as 
Fanny began to test the quality, “ far more 
expensive than I should have chosen ; but my 
husband bought it in a recent tour, and of 
course,” she added with a smile, “ I ought to 
be much pleased.” 

She then gave directions as to the mode she 
wished to have it made, leaving some parts 
entirely to Fanny’s taste, after which, dismiss- 
ing the little girls to their play, she sat down 
to have a chat concerning old times. 


216 


THE FAULTS Ot' CHRISTIANS. 


When they were called to an early tea, our 
young friend could scarcely believe it to be 
night, the hours had flown so quickly. She 
had found in her employer a kindred spirit, 
one, who amidst all the cares, trials, and joys 
of the present life, looked fgrward to the 
greater joys of the world to come : One 
whose steady, prayerful aim it was to lead her 
husband and children into the fold of the good 
Shepherd. 

To Mrs. Thomas, Fanny could with confi- 
dence talk of the way the Lord had led her ; 
the many afflictive events which of late years, 
had clustered around her path ; and to her, 
also, she could speak of the humble hopes 
which had sustained her. 

Their joint afiection for the pastor and his 
motherless child, was a new bond between 
them, and Fanny now found for the first time 
that with Mr. Thomas originated the proposi- 
tion of allowing Mr. Sheldon’s salary to be 
continued during his absence. She related to 


Tim’s sister. 


217 


her sympathising listenei , many instances of 
self-denial and sacrifice on the part of both 
the pastor and his wife, for the good of their 
people, and was rewarded by strong assuran- 
ces of firm attachment on the part of the So- 
ciety. 

As Mrs. Thomas resided some distance from 
Airs. Stuart’s, where Fanny boarded, she was 
urged to remain over night, as one day more 
v/ould be required for her work. 

In the evening, she had some conversation 
with the husband of her friend, and found him 
as unlike her as possible. He was frank al- 
most to bluntness ; but if ever^ so warm in an 
argument, his good humor never failed. 

“ If your dress-making is as good as your 
singing. Miss Eay,” was almost his first re- 
mark, “ you’ll be sure to give satisfaction in 
N — . Why, young Ames, the new store 
keeper, told me that now Mr. Sheldon was 
away he should not go to church, if it was 
not for the pleasure of hearing you sing.” 


218 


THE FAULTS OF CHKISTIAJ^S. 


“ I am sorry,” said Fanny, blushing deeply, 
“ that he has no worthier motive.” 

“ I believe you are a church-member, Miss.” 

She bowed. 

‘‘ And 3^ou believe that by standing in the 
aisle, and signifying your assent to certain ar- 
ticles of faith, you will get a free , ticket for 
heaven ? ” 

“ Now, mfe, you needn’t shake your head, 
and look as if you thought I was far along in 
the opposite road. I feel an interest in Miss 
Eay for many reasons, and I want her to ex- 
plain her views. I dare be bound she makes 
no secret of them.” 

Fanny became very much confused, and 
Mrs. Thomas hastened to say, “ I shook my 
head because as Fanny is a perfect stranger 
to you, I fear she will misinterpret your want 
of reverence.” 

“ Let me explain then at starting. Miss,” 
he added with an arch glance at the young 
girl’s flushed face, “ that no one can have a 


TDl’s SISTER. 


219 


greater respect for true piety, or real religion, 
wherever it can be found. Now, will you an- 
swer my question ? ” 

“ I do not believe standing in the aisle, or 
any other act a sinful human creature can per- 
form, will gain one an entrance to heaven.” 

“ What, not the most dutiful conduct to 
one’s afflicted father — not the most tender 
care of an ill-tempered step-mother — not the 
patient endurance of the loss of fortune? — nor 
even the exercise of ones vocal powers to fill 
the otherwise empty pews ? ” 

Fanny smiled, though painfully confused. 

“No,” she replied, “not all that, nor a 
great deal more, would weigh one fartliing in 
the balance against indwelling sin. One 
needs a richer price, a more costly sacrifice, 
in order to free the soul from guilt, and pre- 
pare it for the joys of heaven. How grateful 
we ought to be that we are not left to win our 
entrance to that blessed world by our own 
deeds, which would certainly fail us ; but 


220 


THE FAULTS OF CHRISTIANS. 


that one drop of Jesus’ blood can wash our 
stains away.” 

Mr. Thomas paused a moment, opened and 
shut a book lying near him, many times, and 
then said frankly, “ You have disappointed 
my expectations, for I hoped to have the 
pleasure of an argument with you ; but you 
cooly knock away my underpining, and I have 
not an inch of ground left to stand upon.” 

Mrs. Thomas looked greatly pleased at this 
confession, though she wisely foreborc to say 
so, and as Fanny made no. reply,, he went on. 

“ I have been watching the conduct of pro- 
fessors for more than twelve years, and do be- 
lieve that many, I may say the greater propor- 
tion, appear to me to be only ‘ name Chris- 
tians,’ as Mar Johanna, the Nestorian Bishop 
called them. Certainly they are only Sabbath- 
day Christians, while they live for the world, 
and the god of this world thiough the week. 
My mother was a godly woman who squared 
everything by the Bible. When I used to ask 


Tim’s sister. 


221 


permission to do this or that, down would 
come the good Book, and she would say, 
‘ We’ll see, my son, what rule God has given 
us.’ Oh, how many times she has read me 
the words, ‘ enter not into the path of the 
wicked, and go not in the way of evil men.’ 
Or she would ask, ‘ how can you repeat the 
Lord's prayer, ‘ Lead us not into temptation,’ 
and then rush deliberately into danger ? ’ ” 

“Then if my wife were not present,” he 
added with an affectionate glance toward her, 
“ I should say, she is one of the few who are 
acting Christians. All the good there is left 
in me is owing to my mother’s teaching and 
my wife’s prayers ; but still I say that I be- 
lieve thousands of souls will be lost because 
those who enter the church and ought to act 
as examples to others, live such inconsistent 
lives.” 

“ I am afraid,” rejoined Fanny in a cheer- 
ful tone, “ that you have forgotten one of 
your good mother’s Scripture rules. Paul 


222 


THE FAULTS OF CHRISTIANS. 


tells US those who ‘ compare themselves among 
themselves, are not wise.’ There is a stand- 
ard of holiness which we are commanded to 
strive after. Christ is our perfect exemplar. 
If we are occupied, as we ought to be, in ex- 
amining oui\own lives, and endeavoring to 
form ourselves after this glorious pattern, we 
shall find no time to stumble over the faults 
of lax believers. As you are so frank, I know 
you will wish to have me equally so ; and I 
beg of you to come at once to Christ — to 
leave all the examination into the characters 
and actio ns of the church, until you have a 
realization of the evils of your own heart, and 
then while you pity as well as blame them, 
you can show them by your own life what 
good a consistent, working Christian can 
do.” 

While she was speaking, Mr. Thomas rat- 
tled the newspaper, drummed on the table, 
and showed in various ways that he consider- 
ed himself as having the worst side of the ar- 


TIM’S SISTER. 


223 


gument, but when she ceased, he rose sud- 
denly from his chair as he exclaimed, “I 
think you must have taken lessons of the par- 
son, for you are more personal than my wife, 
even, and she always pushes me against the 
wall. I’m determined on one thing ; I never 
will enter the church till I can do about 
right.” 

“ I hope,” said Fanny softly, “ to see you, 
and that before long, come out before the 
world, and declare yourself on the Lord’s 
side. I hope and expect this, because I know 
God hears and answers the prayers of his 
people, and there are many recorded for you, 
above.” 

The gentleman went quickly from the room 
on the pretext of answering a call at the door. 
When he returned, he said, “I give it up. 
I see I can make no head-way at all against 
you, because,” he added in a softened tone, 
“ your actions, as far as I know, correspond 
with your words ; but I will say one thing. 


224 


THE FAULTS OF CHEISTIANS. 


and I do it reverently : If God can save sin- 
ners in spite of the inconsistencies of his pro- 
fessed followers, it would appear to me like a 
greater exhibition of his power than the crea- 
tion of a world.” 

Fanny shuddered, while Mrs. Thomas said, 
“ Oh, husband, don’t talk so ! ” 

Presently, the outer door was shut, and 
they heard Mr. Thomas hurrying down the 
street. 

A few hours later, when they were about 
to retire, the lady reverted to his remark, and 
begged him not to repeat it. “ If you would 
only think upon what Fanny has said.” 

“ Never fear,” he answered in a voice he 
tried to render jocose. “ She plunged the 
daggers into me without mercy, and there 
they stick.” 

“ Heigh ho ! ” he cried after so long a time 
that she supposed him asleep ; “I suppose 
after all, it’s no use to harp upon other peo- 
ple’s failings, while we have such a plague in 
our own hearts.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE AGED BELIEVEE. 



) HE next morning Mrs. Thomas, who 
had spent half the night in pleading 
for 3, blessing on her husband, that 
the Gracious Spirit might not depart 
from him until he had accepted Christ 
as his Saviour, begged Fanny to lose no op- 
portunity to pursue the subject with him. 

She repeated the remark he had made the 
previous evening, and exclaimed with deep 
emotion, “ Oh, how grateful I should be if 
he could be brought to feel the truth in his 
own heart ! ” 

Fanny’s beaming countenance shone with 
pleasure. She promised to do all in her pow- 
er to promote the good work she hoped was 
beffun in his soul, but hesitated whether it 
would be best to say too much. 


226 


THE AGED BELIEVER. 


At breakfast, the gentleman appeared much 
more lively than the day before. He tickled 
Jamie, who sat by his side, and joked with 
Eose and Florence upon their rosy cheeks. 
He complimented his wife and Fanny on their 
bright appearance, and even Khoda, the table 
girl, on the tenderness of her steak ; and at 
length announced that he should not be home 
to dinner, possibly not until late in the even- 
ing. 

He glanced quickly from his wife to the 
young dress-maker, to see whether they sus- 
pected any particular reason for his absence ; 
but Fanny looked at him with her clear, full 
eyes, until his own fell beneath the glance. 

They did not see him again until Fanny 
was just leaving the house, and then he insist- 
ed that it was too late for her to walk alone, 
and turned around to accompany her. 

They went on a few moments in silence, 
and then she purposely led the conversation 
to some improvements that were being made 


mi’s SISTER. 


227 


in the public streets. - This was a subject 
which greatly interested him, and for a few 
moments he explained to her where the new 
squares were to be laid out, and the variety 
of shade trees to be placed in them. 

As they drew near her boarding-house he 
turned the subject abruptly, and said, “ what 
a wonderful change that was in your father, 
Miss Eay. Mr. Simons, who was present, 
gave me an account of his death. He says 
he’s tried to live a different life ever since.” 

“It was indeed,” cried Fanny, “a most 
wonderful instance of divine grace. Nothing 
short of that could have led a reserved man 
like my father, to speak as he did. “And 
just such grace,” she added, as they stood a 
moment at the gate, “he is ready to give 
every one who asks for it.” 

He wrung her hand without speaking, and 
turned away toward home. 

A. few evenings later, on her return from 
her work, she found Aim, her old friend from 


228 


THE AGED BELIEVER. 

the parsonage, waiting to see her. She had 
gone for a time into the family of Mr. Alger, 
and came to see Miss Eay on account of her 
mistress. 

‘ ‘ She’s ailing, you know,” said the girl, ‘ ‘ and 
wants a loose-gown made. I told her what 
a real beauty you fixed up for Mrs. Sheldon, 
out of an old dress. She thought you wouldn’t 
come because she’s not rich ; and she says you 
go round among the ’stocricy. But I told her 
you wa’n’t a mite proud, but often helped me 
to get breakfast with your own hands ; any 
way, I’d make bold to ask you.” 

“ Tell her. I’ll go with pleasure,” said 
Fanny, in an earnest tone. “ AYhen does she 
want me ? ” 

“Oh, she’s not perticular, if so she have 
it soon ! She’ll be right glad I came.” 

The young lady named the day she would 
be at liberty, and then inquired for Ann’s sis- 
ter Lizzie. 

“ Feth, ma’am ! ” exclaimed the girl laugh- 


TIM’S SISTER. 


229 


ing, “I came near forgetting meself. And 
when did you hear from our little pet? I 
s’pose there’s no chance of hearing from him- 
self, at present.” 

Fanny smiled as she assured her that she 
had received a letter from Miss Hamilton, who 
said Emma was well and happy, though she 
often talked of mamma, aunty and Ann. 

‘ ‘ The pretty child ! ” faltered the faitlrful 
girl, putting her apron to her eyes, “ and 
sure there’s no one wishes her better luck 
than myself, and that’s true for ye, ma’am.” 

“Miss Hamilton says,” Fanny went on, 
“ every night I have to tell her stories about 
mamma and baby up in the sky with Jesus ; 
papa away off on the ocean, aunty in her pret- 
ty room at Mr. Stuart’s, and Ann making up 
cakes for some little girl’s breakfast.” 

Ann shouted with delight, and again ex- 
claimed, “the pretty creature! It’ll do my 
eyes good- to look at her the day she comes 
back to us.” 


230 


THE AGED BELIEVER. 


“ I hope you like your place,” said Fanny, 
as her visitor rose to leave, “and that you 
try to remember all Mr. Sheldon told you.” 

The color flew into Ann’s cheeks, as she de- 
clared, “It is not just easy to do that when one 
stands ready to fling my failings right in my 
face.” 

“ What do you mean? I am sure Mrs. 
Alger cannot be severe with you.” 

“Oh, feth ! no ma’am. It’s himself that 
has the passionate temper. The mistress is 
just like a worn out lamb, trying to go to 
sleep. 

“ Stop, Ann, it is not right for you to talk 
so about your employers.” 

“ And sure wont it be worse, ma’am, for 
me to be kapeing it shut up in my breast, and 
maldng me angry like ? Oh, there’s not many 
gintlemen the likes of Mr. Sheldon; there’s 
niver a night but I cry the eyes out of me, 
mourning for the pretty wife he had ! Ah I 
it’s a bad heart Mr. Alger has, and himself a 
professor, too, that ought to know better.” 


TIM’S SISTER. 


231 


“ Do your duty faithfully, and God will 
take care of you,” urged her young friend. 
“You can tell her I will be there on the day 
I mentioned, unless I am hindered by sick- 
ness.” 

The day following, Fanny was made very 
happy, by receiving a note from Miss Hamil- 
ton, enclosing one from Mr. Sheldon to her 
mother, which he had requested them to for- 
ward to N., and was as follows : 

“ My dear Mother : — 

“ My heart swells almost to bursting, as I 
hasten to bid adieu to you, the mother of my saint- 
ed Louisa, and to the land on whose soil reposes 
her precious remains. When I realize that I may 
never see you more, I cannot restrain myself from 
giving expression to my gratitude for all your 
love, and for the considerate kindness you and 
yours have manifested toward me since the decease 
of my dear wife. I can never — 

^^Ship Unicorn^ 11 o'clock, I was summoned on 
board ship before I had finished my letter, and 
now have time only to write a few parting words 
];efore the pilot returns to the shore. 


232 


THE AGED BELIEVER. 


“ Farewell, dear friends. Farewell, darling lit- 
tle Emma. Farewell, sisters Emma, Mary and 
Fanny. May our Father in heaven guard and pro- 
tect you, so that if it is His will, that we meet on 
earth once more. Pray for me that this dreadful 
affliction may work out the fruit for which it was 
sent. 

“ Please forward this to Fanny, as I cannot de- 
lay the pilot longer. 

Don’t let Emma forget her absent papa, whose 
heart is full of love for her, nor the teachings of 
her dear mamma. 

“Evarts Sheldon.” 

On Sabbath evening Fanny went as usual, 
to read for an hour to Mrs. Cahill, an aged 
woman, now in her ninety-seventh year. She 
enjoyed the use of all her faculties except her 
eyes, which had failed her so much that she 
could read but a few words even of the coars- 
est print. 

To our young semptress there was a perfect 
charm about this old lady. There was a 
depth and richness to her religious experience 
which she had nev^r before witnessed. To 


Tim’s sister. 


233 


her the Bible was no sealed book, but every 
word full of life and salvation. Though so fam- 
iliar with its contents that you could scarcely 
mention a passage which she could not quote 
by chapter and verse, yet she listened to its 
pages with all the interest of a child. “ It’s 
always new and fresh to me,” she said to Fan- 
ny. “ Something comes right up into ray 
mind that I never thought of before. Oh, 
what a wonder of wonders that book is ! I 
lay last night where I could see the stars shin- 
ing in all their brightness ; and I kept repeat- 
ing the beautiful words : ‘ When I -consider 
the heavens the work of thy fingers, the moon 
and the stars which thou hast ordained ; what 
is man that thou art mindful of him, and the 
son of man that thou visitest him.’ ” 

“ Shall I read your favorite chapter again,” 
inquired Fanny, with a smile. 

“ Yes, child, read it again. How can I 
tire of hearing about the rest of heaven — the 
rest IVe been longing for, nigh seventy years 


234 


THE AGED BELIEVER. 


— the rest ‘ that remaineth for the children of 
God.’” 

Whei^ Fanny had finished the fourth chap- 
ter of Hebrews, she said, 

“ I shall always think of you, Mrs. Cahill, 
when I read this chapter, I’ve read it to you 
so many times.” - 

“ Well, child ! ” answered the old lady, her 
eyes sparkling, “ The Lord will come before 
long, and take me home. It will be a com- 
fort to you, may be, to think of me enjoying 
that rest, with Abram, and Isaac, and Jacob, 
and David, and Paul, and John, and many 
others whom we have known and loved here.” 

“ My mother and my father will be there,” 
murmured Fanny, “ and our dear Mrs. Shel- 
don.” 

“ And our glorious risen Saviour,” added 
the old lady. “ No tongue can express the 
joys which he has reserved for those who love 
him.” 

At the end of the hour Fanny rose to leave, 


Tim’s sister. 


2a5 


but said, “ I have heard from our pastor. 
He wrote dii board the vessel just before he 
sailed.” 

“ I shall never look on his face again,” said 
Mrs. Cahill, gazing with perfect composure 
into the countenance of her young companion ; 
“ but I want you to tell him from me, that if 
he wishes to drav7 liis flock into the fold, he 
himself must keep close to the good Shepherd ; 
he must sound the alarm fearlesslj^ when they 
are in danger of straying ; he must win them 
with the cords of love, lest if he falter another 
shepherd step in and teach them to climb into 
heaven some other way. Tell him I’ve had a 
warning, and I’m going soon ; but I’m not 
afraid. Christ is the door. He whom my soul 
loveth, and He will surely let me in.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 


THE PASSIONATE CHURCH MEMBER. 

T was a pleasant morning when Fanny 
started to meet her engagement with 

f Mrs. Alger. She had now become so 
much accustomed to her high shoe, that 
it gave her no inconvenience. The limp 
in her gait was scarcely perceptible, so that 
she was ready to respond fully to Dr. B — ’s 
frequent inquiries through the Hamiltons, that 
she was quite well. She still, however, wore 
the supporter, as she found it greatly strength- 
ened the weak member. 

She had scarcely rung the bell before Ann, 
who had been watching, smilingly opened the 
door and ushered her into a room on the low- 
er floor, where Mrs. Alger was still reposing 
on the bed. 



236 


Tim’s sister. 


237 


Fanny noticed at a glance that both mis- 
tress and maid looked flushed and excited as 
if something unpleasant had occurred, and 
that the room had not an air of tidiness and 
comfort. 

Ann introduced Miss Eay, and then began 
to bustle about and gather up clothes from 
the chairs, and'put in order the work lying 
on the table. 

“ I’m not quite as strong as usual, this 
morning,” began the lady in an apologizing 
tone. ‘‘ I calculated to be up earlier, but—” 
She stopped, and glanced anxiously at Ann’s 
indignant face. 

Feth, ma’am, it’s no use bothering with 
an excuse. I’ll give Miss Eay the dress, and 
you’ll be better after a little nap.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Alger,” repeated Fanny, in a 
cheerful tone, “ Ann and I are old friends. 
I dare say we shall be able to manage with out 
you for sometime yet. But Ann, where did 
you put my bag? You have carried away my 
patterns.” 


238 THE PASSIONATE CHUECH MEMBER. 


“ In here, Miss Fanny. Mistress thought 
you’d be more comfortable in this little room.” 

The moment the door was closed Ann ap- 
proached nearer and said, “ If it wasn’t for 
mistress’ being sick, I’d give warning this 
very day. It breaks the heart of me entirely, 
letting alone that, it makes me forget that he’s 
my master, to see himself so awful.’” 

“ Stop, stop ! ” cried Fanny, ‘‘ it will only 
make it worse for yon to tell me. I really 
had rather not hear about it.” 

“ Then I’ll pack my trunk, and be ready to 
leave with yees,” exclaimed the excited girl. 
“ Sure I thought ye’d be a friend to me for 
the sake of the dear saint that’s gone to 
glory.” 

“I am a friend, my poor girl. No one 
would be more glad than I, to do you a kind- 
ness.” 

“Feth, I’m sure of that. Well, thin, I must 
be axing your advice. I was cooking a steak 
for breakfast when the chamber-bell rang. I 


Tim’s si.'iXER. 


239 


started at wonst, for she expected yees, and 
wished to be ready ;^and sure I wasn’t away 
the smallest part of a minute, when I heard 
himself shouting after me to come back for 
the breakfast was spiled. I wouldn’t have 
cared what he’d say to me, for I’m strong — 
but he pounced right into her room*, and be- 
gan to abuse her awful. The steak wasn’t 
done too much after all ; and when he got 
over his passion he ate a lot of it ; but the 
mistress cried herself into ’sterics, and I 
wouldn’t leave her to go to prayers. I’ll tell 
what’s true for ye. Miss, I got real angry my- 
self, and whin he called me to leave the poor 
sufferin woman and come at wonst, I told him 
the likes of his prayers, as cculdn’t hold his 
temper, only hardened my heart, and I 
wouldn’t hear’em no more while I lived in his 
house ; and that’s the truth. Miss. Himself 
T1 kill her with his horrid ways.” 

“ Ann,” called a feeble voice from the next 
room, “ I’ll try and eat an egg, and then I 
must get up.” 


240 THE PASSIONATE CHURCH MEMBER. 

“ If you’ll tell me how you’ll like the sleeves 
made,” said Fanny, “ and Ann can find a 
dress for me^ to measure by, I shall not need 
you for several hours. You’ll feel better if 
you can fall asleep.” 

‘ ‘ Can you get a dress out ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, there is an abundance of the 
material, and it will be very pretty, too ! If 
you have any pieces of high colored silk for 
trimming, it would be more becoming from 
the contrast.” 

“ Would crimson look well with drab?” 

“ Yes, it would be very tasteful.” 

“ I have an old crimson skirt. I haven’t 
seen it for a good while, but Ann can find it, 
and iron it out. I don’t wear silks much 
now.” 

The last words were said in such a tone of 
hopeless sorrow, that the young lady was 
much affected. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE PASSIONATE HUSBAND. 

ITTLE before noon, with Ann’s ever 
ready assistance, Mrs. Alger arose 
from her bed, and paid more than 



usual attention to her toilet. Her 


^ delicate complexion was slightly ting- 
ed with pink from the excitement of having a 
visitor, and Fanny could easily see, that when 
in the enjoyment of health and happiness, she 
must have been very beautiful. 

The dress fitted her emaciated figure quite 
as well as could be expected, and she had just 
pronounced her satisfaction, when the outer 
door opened, and a gentleman walked through 
the hall, slammed one or two doors, and then 
entered his wife’s room. 


24 1 


242 


THE PASSIONATE HUSBAND. 


“ Hoity, toity ! was his sneering exclama- 
tion, as he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Alger, 
dressed and sitting in an easy chair. “ Hys- 
terics didn’t last as long as usual, I reckon.” 

As there was no reply to this, he went on : 
“ I thought you were going to have company 
to-day; but you look more as if you were 
dressed for a party.” 

“ Miss Eay is in the sewing-room,” Fanny 
heard her say in a meek, resigned voice. 

‘ ‘ Why didn’t you tell me so at first ? ” he 
asked angrily, though in a much lower voice. 

Ann presently came in to say that dinner 
was ready, and to ask what her mistress would 
have. 

“ I suppose I ought to try and go to the 
table,” said Mrs. Alger, with an appealing 
glance toward the sympathising servant. 

“ Don’t be bothering on her account,” cried 
the girl good-naturedly ; ‘ ‘ she’ll not be wish- 
ing you to make a stranger of her.” 

Fanny, who had heard the summons to din- 


Tim’s sist£r. 


243 


ner, came into the room, and was introduced 
to Mr. Alger. She then hastened to beg the 
lady not to leave her chamber on her account. 

She found Mr. Alger a very different man 
from what she had imagined him, tall, portly, 
and would have been handsome had it not 
been for an expression of discontent which 
seemed to be settled upon features. He 
entertained his young guest with the news of 
the day, and Fanny, whose heart was fully ^ 
bent on restoring happiness to this divided 
family, exerted herself so effectually to be 
agreeable, that Ann, who was waiting upon 
the table, ‘regarded her with astonishment. 

He led her on by degrees to speak of her- 
self, wondered that she should have chosen 
the employment of dress-maker, when she 
might have been a school-teacher, or an in- 
structor in music ; made many inquiries re- 
garding Mr. Sheldon, (he was himself a pro- 
fessor, though in a neighboring church,) and. 
then introduced the subject of religion. 


244 


THE PASSIONATE HUSBAND. 


Here Fanny was surprised at the real inter- 
est he manifested in the advancement of 
Christ’s kingdom, the zeal he expressed con- 
cerning the children of the village, and the 
desirableness of gathering them into Sabbath 
Schools. 

She had long finished her dinner ; but he 
still lingered, and she could not rise without 
absolute rudeness. Her feelings toward him 
had insensibly changed, and she began to jiity 
as well as blame him for his unfortunate tem- 
per. 

At last she rose, saying with a snfile, “ my 
time is not my own,” when to her surprise he 
followed her into his wife’s room. 

The meek, almost heart-broken air with 
which she met his glance, again roused Fan- 
ny’s indignation. 

“ I hope you enjoyed your dinner,” she 
said in a cheerful voice. 

“ I have very little appetite,” was the lo’sv 
response. She seemed to be under a ban 
when her husband was present. 


TIM’S SISTER. 


245 


Fanny saw him gaze at her, and as she was 
measuring for a sleeve she was sure he sighed 
heavily. The color flashed into her face as 
she asked herself, ‘ ‘ have I no duty toward this 
man? Can I witness their unhappiness and 
not strive to alleviate it ? ” Then she gazed 
in his hard face, and felt that she could not 
subject herself to a conflict with such a char- 
acter. 

“ Well, I must be going,” he said, rising, 
to Fanny’s intense relief. “ Wife,” he added, 
“ I advise you to have Miss Kay here as long 
as you can prevail upon her to stay. I’ll en- 
gage to find you material for dresses if you 
will exert yourself to wear them. I haven’t 
seen you look so bright for months.” 

“ I wish I could be more like other people,” 
was the poor wife’s sad remark, when they 
were alone. 

Fanny had now brought her sewing, and 
was sitting near the lady, determined to try 
and present before hei'* a more cheerful view 
of life and its duties. 


246 


THE PASSIONATE HUSBAND. 


“We ought to have a higher standard than 
our neighbors,” she replied with a beaming 
smih). “We each have our part to act on the 
stage of life, and all that is required of us is, 
to do our duty for to-day. There is no one 
so feeble or afflicted, but he can do good to 
those around him, if he has the disposition to 
do so.” 

Mrs. Alger slowly shook hej: head. “I 
can do nothing,” she said mournfully, “ noth- 
ing for my husband — nothing for my chil- 
dren ; my husband feels only contempt, and 
the children, though young, have learned to 
imitate him.” 

Fanny sighed as she said, “We -are only 
answerable to God for our own offences, and 
not at all for those of others. Do your duty 
faithfully, and you will have such peace in 
your own soul as will enable you to bear ev- 
ery affliction with patience.” 

There was a long pause, during which Fan- 
ny’s busy fingers sldlfully plaited and puffed 


TEVl’S SISTER. 


247 


the crimson trimming. At last, Mrs. Alger 
said softly, “ I don’t think I understand 3^ou.” 

‘ ‘ Do you feel that Christ is your Saviour ? ” 

The question startled her, but she reluct- 
antly replied, 

‘ ‘ If you mean whether I am a church-mem- 
ber, I am not.” 

“No, indeed, Mrs. Alger, that is quite 
another question. Many, I fear at the pres- 
ent day, are members of the church who are 
not members of Christ’s family. I mean, who 
are not truly regenerated. There is but one 
rule by which we are allowed to judge — ‘By 
their fruits ye shall know them.’” 

The sound of a suppressed cough in the ad- 
joining room, startled them both, and for ^a 
few moments the conversation was suspended. 
After a while, as they heard nothing more, 
the lady said, in a apologizing tone, “ It was 
Ann I suppose, dusting the parlors.’ 


CHAPTEE XXm. 


MRS. ALGER’s affliction. 

HAVE seen a good deal of religions 
people,” Mrs. Alger went on, “ but I 
never thought religion would be much 
comfort to me. Mrs. Alger, my hus- 
band’s mother, lived with us after we 
were married. She was a zealous professor, 
and used to urge me to become a church- 
member. She said my husband and I should 
never live happily together until we sympa- 
thised in our religious feelings. I was young 
and smart then, though you wouldn’t think it 
now, and couldn’t see how I should be any 
better off. Her religion didn’t prevent her 
from stirring up trouble between her son and 
me, and it didn’t prevent either of them from 
giving way to their passions on the most tri- 



Tim’s sister. 


249 


fling occasions. You see I was naturally amia- 
ble, and I used to . compare myself with them, 
and think I was a great deal more pious than 
they were. Then I had a dreadful trial, (I’ve 
never had any health or spirits since my baby 
died.) A woman lived here as house-keeper. 
She was a member of the church where Mr. 
Sheldon preached, and talked religion by the 
hour together, but she was so bigoted and 
uncharitable, and would scarcely speak well 
of any one who did not believe exactly as she 
did, that I became at last quite satisfied with 
myself, and felt sure if those around me went to 
heaven, I could. That was a good many years 
ago. Somehow, I’ve never since felt inter- 
ested in religion.” 

“ I wish you could know old lady Cahill,” 
exclaimed Fanny. “ You would see how re- 
ligion has supported her through all the trials 
of ninety-seven years, and how it supports 
her now in the prospect of death. She is one 
of the most even tempered, cheerful, hoping 


250 MES. alger’s affliction. 

Christians that I ever knew; joyfully and 
calmly waiting her summons to leave this 
world, and enter upon her heavenly rest.” 

Mrs. Alger began to weep. “ Oh, I can’t 
bear to think about death ! ” she sobbed. “ I 
lie awake night after night, and dread it until 
I am drenched in perspiration. I know I 
am not prepared to die.” 

Fanny was greatly affected by this frank 
avowal, so that it was a minute or two before 
she could say, 

“ Christ came to take away the fear of 
death.” She then related a number of instan- 
ces among her own friends, where, through 
Christ, the sting of death was removed, and 
the soul of the believer filled with joy and 
peace. 

“ I wish I could feel so,” faltered the sick 
woman, “ but you see I’ve never had any true 
Christian friend ; one who cared enough for 
my soul, to tell me how to find peace.” 

Again Fariny was startled by a sound in 


xm’s SISTER. 


251 


Ae next room, but this time Mrs. Alger was 
so absorbed, she did not notice it. She went 
on : 

“ Sometimes at night IVe been so distress- 
ed, that I would think I must awake my 
husband and ask him what I should do ; but I 
did not dare. He might not like to be dis- 
turbed, you know, and then I don’t think he is 
one of the kind of Christians you describe.” 

After another pause, she said, “ He does 
a great deal for the church where he belongs, 
and has the largest Bible class in the Sabbath 
School ; and I know as long as I could go out, 
I used to be proud that he was my husband, 
when I saw how much he was looked up to ; 
but ever since my dreadful affliction, I’ve 
never felt much interest in anything. I sup- 
pose it’s my own fault, as he says, and that I 
might overcome my melancholy if I chose ; 
but though it’s six years ago, my trouble is al- 
ways fresh to me.” 

To what affliction do you refer?” inquir- 
ed Fanny. 


252 


MRS. ALGER’S AFFLICTION. 


The lady shuddered. “ It’s a sad story, 
J\liss Eay ; but perhaps it would do me good 
to tell it,” 

She sighed heavily as she began: “We 
have two boys, Meriam and Jonas, but for a 
long time we had no daughter. Oh, how I 
longed for a girl ! Mr. Alger was proud of his 
boys, and claimed the right of training them 
as he chose. I did not like many of his plans, 
even their names did not please me ; but he 
said he should always do as he thought best 
with the boys, — when we had a girl I might 
name her, and bring her up to be as listless 
as I pleased. 

“ Six years ago last June, I had a daugh- 
ter, the loveliest babe I have ever seen. 
They said she had my features, and her fath- 
er’s eyes. I never was really happy nor 
grateful till then. I used to sit with her lying 
across my lap, and gaze at her, and wonder 
what her future would be, and sometimes I 
used to say a little prayer for her, that she 


TIM^S SISTER. 


253 


might grow up a good woman. Mr; Alger 
wanted to have her called Charlotte, for his 
mother; but I remembered his promise, and 
insisted that her name should be Annie. For 
three months neither my husband nor his 
mother interfered much with us. I gave up 
all care or interest in the family, and just re- 
mained in this room' with my precious baby. 

“ But one day she seemed a little ill, and his 
mother insisted I was ruining her health by 
confining myself so much from the air. I 
said I would go out more, and I began to draw 
her in the wagon, the others had used. Some- 
how the old lady never loved my little Annie, 
and even her father used to say, when I show- 
ed him how beautiful she was growing — 
‘ Pooh, Martha, it’s only a girl ! ’ I can’t re- 
member how it was that he first forbid me to 
draw the wagon. I know there was a good 
deal of talk about it, and his mother said the 
neighbors thought it strange that I never 
could stir out of doors without being tied to 


254 


MRS. ALGEIl’S AFFLICTION. 


the baby. So they insisted I should leave 
Annie with her, and go out to church, and to 
make calls. He said he wouldn’t have his wife 
talked about as an injured woman. 

‘ ‘ Two or three times I came home and 
found my baby crying dreadfully. Even 
when I had soothed her to sleep, her lip would 
grieve for hours. His mother said she was 
cross, and was old enough to be made to mind ; 
but I knew she was afraid. Poor little thing 1 
She was too much like her unhappy mother. 
Meriam and Jonas used to come into the nur- 
sery, but their loud voices would start her 
from sleep, or they would slyly pinch her and 
make her cry. I grew almost to hate them, 
but it made no difference, for I had never 
been allowed to fondle them, or do anything 
for them, as I wished. 

“ When Annie was almost five months old, 
one of my schoolmates was married tq a friend 
of Mr. Alger, a widower; there was to be 
a great party ; I of course was invited, and if 


Tm’S SISTER. 


255 


I could have taken Annie, I should hare ad- 
mired to go ; but I determined at once not to 
leave her. Three days before the wedding, 
Mr. Alger asked what I was going to wear. 

I told him I shouldn’t go. He was very, very 

^ 0' 

angry. As soon as he would hear me, I 
told him how much Annie cried when I left 
her. 

t< < Whip her, then, till she stops,’ he said. 
I had never dared to be so firm before, and I 
don’t think he would have done as he did, if 
his mother had not urged him to it. 

“ The next day he brought home a silk 
dress, and said he had engaged a woman to 
make it up in time for the party, for go I 
should at any rate. 

“ The dress came home ; but I begged and 
pleaded with him to let me stay, for the baby 
had seemed dull all day ; and I had cried 
until I wasn’t fit to be seen ; but the more I 
uro-ed the more his mother told him not to 

O 

yield. She said he had spoiled me already by 


25G 


MRS. ALGEH’S affliction. 


humoring me. I can’t tell you how dreadfully 
I felt ; but the carriage came, and they made 
me go. Two or three times in the course of 
the evening, I went to my husband, and told 
him I felt as if I couldn’t stay any longer. 
Once I thought I would run away by myself. 
Oh, how I wish I had ! But no, he met 
a great many old friends, and perhaps he 
thought I was foolish. 

“ At last, I heard a loud ring at the bell, 
and some strange voice asking for Mrs. Alger. 
I rushed to the door ; I was almost wild. 

“ ‘ You’d better go home as quick as you 
can,’ the man said, ‘ the doctor thinks your 
baby is dying.’ 

“ I gave one loud scream, and then I re- 
member nothing more until I reached our 
own door, and flew to my room. The baby 
was lying quiet now. She was almost gone.” 

The mother’s voice was' choked with sobs. 
“ I kneeled down by the crib where they 
had laid her, and put her little hand on my 
face. She opened her eyes and smiled. 


TIM’S SISTER. 


257 


‘‘Oh, Doctor I” I cried “ can’t you save 
her ? ” 

“Hush!” he said. “She has ceased to 
breathe.” 

“ I threw myself on the floor and prayed 
God that I might die too. It was a long time 
before I found out that after I left for the par- 
lor, my poor baby had cried for me, and her 
grandmother whipped her. She went into 
convulsions and then she died.” 

When Mrs. Alger ceased spealdng there 
was a long pause. Fanny dared not trust her 
voice to utter words of comfort ; and so she 
wiped her eyes and went on with her sewing. 
After an hour the two boys, Meriam and Jonas, 
came home from school. Shutting the outer 
door with a bang, they rushed through the 
hall to the kitchen, calling out to Ann, “ I’m 
hungry.” “ I want some pie.” * 

“I’ll tell pa of you,” shouted one voice, 
“ you didn’t give me half enough dinner.” 

“And so I didn’t have enough,” echoed the 
other. 


258 


MRS. ALGER’S AEELICTION. 


Mrs . Alger glanced toward her guest whose 
eyes seemed fastened to her work. 

“ They are rude boys,” she said presently 
in an apologizing tone. 

Our young friend had no time to reply, for 
with a rush the little fellows came into their 
mother’s apartment. 

a I’m going over to Jim Mudge’s to play 
ball,” exclaimed the eldest. 

“ I had rather you wouldn’t play with that 
boy,” expostulated his mother, in a feeble 
tone. 

“ Pa lets us,” was the quick retort. 

“ I’m going, too,” rejoined Jonas, whose 
mouth had till that moment been too full to 
speak. 

The lady sighed, but said no more. She 
seemed relieved when the door was shut and 
they had gone out of hearing. 

Presently Ann came in, her face flushed 
with anger. “ I declare to my heart, Miss 
Alger, those boys are enough to provoke a 


Tm's SISTER. 


259 


saint. I had just taken a mince pie from the 
oven for to-morrow’s dinner, and they have 
come in and dug half of it right out.” 

She caught a glance of Fanny’s directed to 
the pale countenance of her mistress, and went 
abruptly from the room, muttering “ them 
boy’s ’ll be the death of her some day.” 


CHAPTER. XXIV. 


HONOEING THE SAVIOUE. 



' OTWITHSTANDING their ill-man- 
nered conduct, Fanny’s heart was 
drawn out toward these boys to a 
degree that surprised herself. They 
had inherited both their father’s and 
mother’s beauty, were fine healthy lads, with 
a peculiarly open expression of countenance. 
She could easily see that with a firm, con- 
sistent discipline, they might be sons of 
whom any parents would be proud. Now 
they bid fair to grow up a trouble to them- 
selves and to all connected with them. 


As delicately as possible, she said this to 
the mother, adding that in her opinion, no 
circumstances could excuse parents in throw- 
ing off the responsibilities of training their 
children for God. 


260 


Tim’s sister. 


261 


“My life would soon be the sacrifice if I 
were to attempt to restrain them,” was the 
hopeless reply. 

It was nearly six when Ann again appeared 
at the door, and addressing her mistress, in- 
quired, 

“ Did ye hear himself say what time he’d 
be in till supper ? ” 

The lady shook her head. 

‘ ‘ He took an uncommon long nap on the 
sofa,” Ann went on, “ so I wouldn’t wonder 
if he made it late to-night.” 

The lady started and glanced with almost 
a look of terror at Fanny, who now could 
easily account for the noise they had heard in 
the adjoining room. 

It was not without some little fluttering at 
her heart, therefore, that a half hour later she 
heard Mr. Alger’s voice in the hall, calling 
to know if the boys were at home, and if tea 
was ready. But his ajDpearance did not indi- 
cate any unusual emotion, which she thought 

•** 


262 


HONORING THE SAVIOUR. 


could not possibly be the case if, as his wife 
feared, he had overheard their conversation. 

Meriam and Jonas seated, one on each side 
of their father, behaved rather better than 
she had expected. Perhaps they wero some- 
what restrained by the presence of a stranger ; 
but Fanny soon entered into conversation with 
them, inquired in an animated tone about their 
school, their lessons, and their plays, and w^as 
confirmed in her first impression that they 
were uncommonly bright boys. 

It was probably from this cause that their 
father was not so talkative as at noon, though 
he was assiduous in attending to the wanis of 
his guest. Once or twice she caught his eye 
fixed inquiringly upon her face, and at last he 
asked rather abruptly, “ Shall you finish the 
work you are engaged upon, to-night. Miss 
Ray?” 

“ Not finish it,” she replied, ‘‘ but any one 
can easily sew a dress when it is fitted.” 

She imagined he looked disappointed which 


r 

TIM'S SISTER. 263 

led he-'r to add, “ If she is not in a hurry, I 
can, perhaps, come another day before long. 
To-morrow I am otherwise engaged.” 

“I shall recommend her to wait,” he re- 
joined seriously. 

As the tea hour had been delayed, it was 
soon time for Fanny to leave. In the pres- 
ence of their father she invited the little boys 
to walk part way with her, a proposal which 
gave them great delight. 

Mr. Alger sent them to the closet for their 
Sunday caps, and cautioned them to behave 
like gentlemen. He was present, too, when 
she approached Mrs. Alger to bid her good 
night, so that for a moment she was tempted 
to refrain from saying what she had intended ; 
but the thought that, perhaps God would per- 
mit her to be the means of bringing honor to 
his name, decided her. 

“ I shall think much of you,” she said, cor- 
dially extending her hand, “ and pray for you, 
too,” she added, in a lower tone. I think 


264 


HONORING THE SAVIOUR. 


you would find great comfort in reading the 
Bible, and perhaps as you are so feeble, your 
husband would read it aloud in your room.” 

The gentleman made no reply, except by a 
grave bow of assent ; and smilingly taking 
an offered hand of each of her young compan- 
ions, she said “good bye” to Ann, and left 
the house. 

On reaching home, she found a message 
had been left for her, requesting her to go to 
Mrs. Cahill as soon as possible, as the old 
lady seemed to be insensible. Without a 
moment’s delay, therefore, she retraced her 
steps, and soon found herself by the old lady’s 
bed. But the spirit had: taken its flight to 
regions above the sides. Without a moment’s 
warning, the messenger came and summoned 
her to her everlasting rest. 

She had been out in her garden in the early 
part of the day, and at two o’clock, a neigh- 
bor called to pay for some socks the old lady 
had knit ; she appeared as well as usual, but 


TIM’S SISTER. 


265 


said as she placed the money in an old leather 
purse, “ I shall soon be where I shall need no 
more of this.” The young girl who lived 
with her made the fire for an early supper, 
and then Mrs. Cahill as usual, put the tea in 
the pot, and set it to draw. Before it was 
ready, she said suddenly, “ Help me to the 
bed, I feel faint.” The only words she spoke 
afterwards were, “ Come, Lord Jesus; come 
quickly ? ” 

And her Lord did come, and her rapt sjDirit 
joyfully put off its earthly coil, to be clothed 
in the pure and spotless robes he had pre- 
pared for her. 

Fanny could not weep, as she gazed upon 
that marble countenance, on which still linger- 
ed the smile with which the departed had wel- 
comed the long expected messenger. She 
rejoiced rather as she said to herself, 

“ Yes, the Christian’s course is run; 

Ended is the glorious strife; 

Fhught the fight, the work is done; 

Death is swallowed up of life; 


266 


HONOKING THE SAVIOUR. 


Borne by angels, on their wings. 

Far from earth her spirit flies, 

Finds her God, and sits and sings 
Triumphing in Paradise.” 

Week after week had passed and now our 
young dress-maker was anxiously expecting a 
letter from Mr. Sheldon announcing his ar- 
rival at Smyrna. From this place he was 
to proceed along the Mediterranean, and then 
visit the Holy land. 

He had volunteered a promise to Fajiny 
that he would make her a medium of commu- 
nication to the Church, the letters to be read 
by one of the deacons at some evening meet- 
ing. She had heard again from Philadelphia. 
Emma continued well and happy. But the 
important news was that Mary Hamilton was 
engaged to be married to one of the teachers 
in their Sabbath School. He was a young 
merchant, just commencing business, so that 
their marriage would be dela^^ed for several 
months. 

At the bottom of the sheet, there was a 
short postscript from Mary to this effect : 


TUVl’S SISTER. 


267 


“ I found my friend while in the discharge 
of the duties to which you urged me. I thank 
the Lord and you, every day, for the pleasure 
of his acquaintance.” 

About this time, too, Fanny received a 
visit from a gentleman she had long known 
in T . Indeed at one time she had at- 

tended an Academy where he was the teacher, 
and knew him to be a moral, upright man, 
prepossessing in appearance, and amiable in 
temper. He engaged board at the principal 
hotel, and invited his former pupil to ride 
with him to some places of interest, in the 
neighborhood. She complied without hesi- 
tation, but finding his attentions were becom- 
ing marked, she avoided his society as much 
as was in her power. 

The subject of marriage, as far as it con- 
cerned herself, was a new one. She had al- 
ways considered her lameness as an obstacle, 
and now that this cause was almost wholly 
removed, she had never found occasion to 


268 


HO^vORlNG THE SAVIOUR. 


dwell upon it, not having met any gentleman 
with whom she should wish to unite her lot. 
Mr. Newell, however, was in earnest, and her 
shyness, as he believed it, only led him to be 
more ardent in the pursuit. 

Fanny now felt that it was time for her to 
question her own heart. She acknowledged 
to herself that her friend was possessed of 
many excellent qualities, such as would pro- 
bably render her life with him a happy one. 
Then his figure was tall and erect, Vv^hile his 
countenance was open and expressive. After 
a rigid examination of her own feelings, 
Fanny, with many blushes, came to the con- 
clusion that she could love him ; nay, that she 
had even begun to do so. But there w^as 
another, and to her all important point to con- 
sider, “ Is it right?” she asked herself, for 
me to marry a man, who makes no professions 
of interest in Christ ; whose only hope of sal- 
vation is in his moral integrity of character ? 
How can I bind myself to him by the dearest 


TIM’S SISTER. 


269 


of earthly bonds, when the tie of Christian 
love does not unite us? Would it help me in 
my upward career, to be in constant as- 
sociation with a man who has no aim beyond 
this world?” 

These were most trying questions, and 
poor Fanny could not at once decide that duty 
required of her to sacrifice the dearest wishes 
of her heart. While in this state she met 
him again, when he in a formal manner, made 
an earnest avowal of his affection, and em 
treated her to say that she would recip- 
rocate it.' 

Though painfully embarrassed by the con- 
flict she was undergoing, Fanny strove to 
answer him with the frankness his conduct 
deserved. 

“ I will not deny,” she said with downcast 
eyes, ‘‘ that I regard you, as I never have 
any other gentleman. I — don’t thank me,” as 
he began to speak, “ I was going to say that 
to me the subject of marriage has ever seemed 


270 


HONORING THE SAVIOUR. 


a most solemn one, involving as it di)es not 
only the happiness of the parties in this 
life, but also the growth, or decay of their 
spiritual affections. If I were to consult my 
feelings, at the present moment, I should ac- 
cept, without a moment’s hesitation, your 
generous proposal ; but — 

“ I shall claim this hand, then,” he exclaim- 
ed joyfully, “notwithstanding that terrible 
conjunction, for as you confess I am not in- 
different to you, I can soon convince you that 
all your scruples are needless.” 

But Fanny knew her own weakness too well 
to allow him to do this. She insisted that 
she must have time to think upon the subject, 
and pray over it. 

The more she sought direction of God in 
prayer, the more she felt that it would be sin- 
ful for her to risk the advancement of her 
piety, by placing herself under the influence 
of a man, who had no love for her Saviour, 
and no realization of the evils of his own 


Tim’s sister. 


271 


heart. To make her trial more severe, she 
was constantly receiving long and earnest 
letters from Mr. Newell, promising that her 
views, though differing ever so much from 
his own, should be held sacred by him ; that 
all he craved was her love, and not that she 
should give up opinions or feelings on any 
subject which *was dear to her. 

The conflict was so severe, that it began 
seriously to affect her health. She longed 
most earnestly for the return of her pastor, 
or of some Christian friend, upon whose judg- 
ment she might rely; but at last the time 
came, which she had herself appointed when 
she would give her final decision. On her 
knees in her little closet, this decision was 
made, “ I must sacrifice my dearest earthly 
prospects to the desire to honor my Saviour. 
Can I do this as I ought if I consent to marry 
a man, whose thoughts and affections are 
wholly of this world?” 

Now, for the first time for many weeks her 


272 


HONORING THE SAVIOUR. 


soul was at peace. The precious promise 
came with new force and beauty to her mind, 
‘ ‘ Them that honor me I will honor, and they 
that despise me shall be lightly esteemed.” 




CHAPTEE XXV. 


THE pastor’s letter. 

this very time when she most needed 
something to turn her thoughts from 
herself and ffom the pain which she 
had so reluctantly caused her friend, 
Fanny received a long letter from ]\Ir. 
Sheldon. He had reached Smyrna, and was 
stopping for a few days in the family of one 
of the American missionaries there. He wrote 
his church : 

‘ ‘ In all my travels — midst all the various 
scenes through which I have passed, my heart 
turns fondly toward my home in N — . My 
church, my parish, the children in the Sabbath 
School, never seemed so precious to me as 
when I compare them with the formal wor- 
shippers-of this far off city. With God’s grace 


274 


THE PASTOE’S letter. 


helping me, I hope to be more earnest and 
successful in winning souls into the fold of 
Christ, than I have ever been before. Pray 
for me, dear brethren and sisters ; pray fer- 
vently as I continually do for you, that this 
separation may be blessed to our growth in 
spiritual knowledge and grace ; pray that I 
may be kept from murmuring against God, 
that he has removed from my sight, the be- 
loved companion of my life ; and that He in 
his infinite mercy may use this affliction for 
my eternal good.” 

After a description of his voyage, and some 
incidents with regard to the mission in Smyr- 
na, he wrote a few lines to Fanny on a sepa- 
rate piece of paper : 

“I long to receive the first sheet of your 
journal concerning the parish. I hope you 
write everything in full, for the moBt minute 
particular has interest for me ; and you must 
remember you promised om^ dear Louisa you 
would put confidence in her husband. Write 


TDiS SISTER. 


275 


your own thoughts and feelings on whatever 
concerns you. How is old lady Cahill? Does 
the Bible Class continue to flourish? I hope 
you still sing in the choir. I need not tell 
you that I long for the time when I shall be 
again in N — , laboring among my people. 
Indeed I had scarcely sailed out of sight of my 
native land before I became restless and im- 
patient to return. God forever bless you, 
Fanny, for the comfort you were to my de- 
parted wife, and the blessing you are to me.” 

Saturday afternoon, Fanny called at the 
house of the senior deacon to give him the 
letter. She found Mr. Loring, the gentleman 
who was for a few weeks supplying the pulpit, 
stopping there, and at length accepted the 
cordial invitation of iVIrs. Wareham to remain 
to tea, and accompany them to the evening 
meeting. 

“ We have just been speaking of a friend 
of yours,” said the lady, glancing archly at 
her young guest. Mr. Newell, is an ac- 
quaintance of Mr. Boring’s.” 


,276 


THE pastor’s letter. 


“ A former class-mate,” added the gentle- 
man, “ and a fine, warm-hearted man he is, 
too.” 

Poor Fanny blushed painfully as she met 
his curious gaze, but she exerted herself to 
speak in a natural tone. 

“ He was formerly my instructor, and I 
have every reason to speak highly of him.” 

“If he was only a Christian,” added Mr. 
Loring, “ what a useful minister he would 
make.” 

“It is not too late for him to become a 
Christian,” urged Fanny, with unconscious 
warmth. ‘ ‘ God’s grace can convert him in 
answer to his friend’s prayers, at any mo- 
ment.” 

Mrs. Wareham presently left the room to 
attend to her domestic duties, when the con- 
versation turned upon the probable length of 
Mr. Sheldon’s absence, and afterwards upon 
her favorite subject, the duty of Christians in 
their every day walk and conversation, to 
honor Christ. 


TOI’S SISTER. 


277 


In the evening as they were leaving for the 
prayer-meeting, the clergyman said, “ Miss 
Ray, you have given me a topic for a few 
remarks this evening, dhe duty and the re- 
ward of honoring God, the certainty that He 
will punish those who do not honor him.” 

To Fanny, it was a most interesting theme ; 
and she hoped a most profitable one. Her 
only regret was that it had not been on one of 
the public services of the Sabbath, that many 
beside herself might also have been there to 
profit. 


CHAPTER XXVI, 


fanny’s faithful waening, 


T was some months after this that Fan- 
ny was walking home one evening 
from her work, when she met her old 
friend Ann. After some words regard- 
ing herself, the girl burst out, 

“ Whatever may be the rason of it. Miss 
Ray, himself is just a changed man entirely. 
Indade, Miss, it’s very low he is, and the 
church is daling with him, too.” 

“ What can you mean?” inquired Fanny. 

“ Why, he used to be a great man among 
them, exhorting and pra3dng, and such like. 
All of a sudden he gave it up, and wouldn’t 
open his mouth on no account. Then the 
church sent men to dale with him, to find out 
the rason of his conduct. I’m going to tell 


TIM'S 8ISTEK. 


279 


you the whole truth, Miss,” she added, blush- 
ing crimson. “ I heard 'em talk to him, and 
he never spaking at all, till they'd done with 
him.” 

“Oh, Ann, Fm afraid you listened ! ” cried 
Fanny, “ and indeed I can't hear it. You did 
very wrong.” 

“ It's the truth, Miss, and no use hiding it. 
So now, IVe told you the worst. I'll tell you 
the best, though I cried like a baby when I 
heard it. Himself said he'd found out the in- 
iquity in his own heart ; and it ill became him 
to exhort others as was himself an unconvert- 
ed man. There, Miss, there’s the whole truth 
for you. When I heard him so humble like, 
I would have gone dovm upon my knees to 
confess all my hard thoughts of him. You 
may be sure I told mistress. The only thing 
that troubles me is, that now I’ve taken back 
my promise, and Fm ready to hear him pray, 
he doesn’t pray at all.” 

“Oh, Ann, Fm sorry for that I” exclaimed 


280 faxny’s faithful wabning. 

Fanny, “ can’t Mrs. Alger ask him to make 
a prayer in her room ? ” 

“ And that’s what I was forgetting to tell 
yees, the mistress is as puzzled as I am with 
him. She says he’s tenderer of her than he 
ever was ; hut he don’t talk much. Even 
when the boys are rude, if he begins as he 
used, to snap them up, he stops himself quick 
and sighs. Mistress hinted to him that she 
wished he’d see the doctor. Between you and 
me, she’s afraid he’s going into a galloping 
consumption.” 

“ I hope, rather,” said Fanny, “ that he is 
just beginning to live aright.” 

From her seat in the choir, Fanny saw that 
Marion Scott was again at home from school. 
From being a young girl in short dresses, she 
had suddenly emerged into young lady-hood ; 
and now, on this first Sabbath of her vacation, 
with her fashionable hat and feathers, her rich 
silk dress and expensive furs, was conscious 
of attracting much attention. There was an 


TIM'S SISTEK. 


281 


air of levity about her, a total absence of all 
the seriousness becoming the house of God 
which gave poor Fanny a thrill of pain ; for 
let me tell you, reader, since that first inter- 
view with Marion, our young sempstress had 
borne her often in the arms of faith to the 
mercy-seat, humbly beseeching a blessing on 
her soul. 

Mrs. Scott was there too, and turned often 
in her seat to regard her daughter with a look 
of pride. 

On her way out, Fanny encountered the 
ladies, when Marion, with the ardor which 
was a part of her character, pressed forward 
to take her hand. 

“ Fve begun to take lessons in singing,” 
she exclaimed at once, “ but my teacher’s 
voice isn’t half as good as yours. If it wasn’t 
for my needing dresses so much, (I have gone 
into long clothes now,”) she said in a low 
voice, “ I should urge you to become a music 
teacher. By the by. Miss Kay, when can you 


282 


fajjny’s faithful warning. 


come to our house ? I shall ueed you a whole 
week.” 

Wholly unconscious that she herself was 
the cause of Fanny’s deep blushes, she turned 
suddenly around to see who was near. 

“ If you will send to Mr. Stuart’s early to- 
morrow morning, I can tell you,” was the 
hesitating reply. I think you forgot that this 
is the Sabbath.” 

Marion colored with surprise. “ I’m sure 
I didn’t think there was any harm in that,” 
she urged with a little pout, “ Ma talks about 
dresses and fashions all day on Sunday, and 
she’s a professor, you know.” 

On their way home she repeated the remark 
to her mother. Mrs. Scott replied, “ She is 
over-strict, my dear ; but we can’t afford to 
displease her because she is the best dress- 
maker in town ; and she is not at all particu- 
lar to keep the exact hours. If a garment is 
not completed she often works an hour or two 
beyond time, without an extra charge.” 


TIM'S SISTER. 


283 


During the week Fanny spent at Mrs. 
Scott's, she was continually on the watch for 
occasions to instil into the heart of the sus- 
ceptible Marion the truths she herself so dear- 
ly loved. There was a warmth and enthusi- 
asm about the young girl which rendered her 
a great favorite ; and Fanny could easily see 
that were these traits sanctified by divine 
grace, Marion would be a bright and shining 
light in the church. But now flattered and 
indulged by her mother on account of her 
beauty, petted and caressed by her friends ; 
hearing only of the pleasures in store for her 
in society, it would indeed require a miracle 
of grace to turn her afiections heavenward. 

“ I mean to attend to the subject of religion 
by and by. Of course I shall,” was her an- 
swer to Fanny's entreaty that she would choose 
Christ for her friend ; “ but now I’ll put it to 
you, wouldn’t it be too much to expect that just 
as I’m. starting in life, while every thing looks 
fair and bright I should bind myself do^vn to 


284 


fanny’s faithful warning. 


unstarched robes and mob-caps ; that I should 
refuse to go to parties and balls, and become 
a stiff-laced, bigoted orthodox !” 

“ I hope you never will become that, Mari- 
on. You would be as far from being good as 
you are now, for if you could not live the 
religion of Jesus without making it unpleasing 
or disagreeable to those about you, you would 
bring dishonor upon his cause. But would 
you call me a true friend if I should see you 
drinking from a well which, however sweet 
the taste may be for a moment, is sure to in- 
troduce poison into your blood, when I knew 
that near by is a fountain of which the water 
is not only pleasant at the time, but will bring 
eternal life to your soul ? ” 

Marion sat for nearly five minutes absorbed 
in thought, but at length as she heard her 
mother’s step, sprang up exclaiming, with 
forced gayety, “ If I do go to ruin. Miss Eay, 
I’ll absolve you from all blame, for you’ve 
done your best to prevent me, and if all were 


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Tm’S SISTEE. 


285 


like you, perhaps I’d try it, — Ma,” she added, 
as Mrs. Scott entered, “I think I shall put 
off becoming pious till I’m about forty. 
You’re not forty yet, are you, Ma? and then 
I’ll turn right about and be' as good as you 
please. I’ll astonish even you. Miss Eay.” 

“ If God should spare your life, Marion.” 

Ah, did not those words strike a dart of 
undying remorse through that worldly moth- 
er’s heart, as scarce a year later, she stood by 
the side of that beautiful daughter, around 
whose future so many fond, bright anticipa- 
tions were clustering, clad in robes of white, 
decorated with flowers, not for a party but 
for the tomb ? ” 

But we must not anticipate. As the words 
met her ear, the lady turned with a smile upon 
her child, the bloom upon whose cheek be- 
tokened the most perfect health. 

Marion herself danced gaily toward the 
mirror, and stood there descanting upon the 
fashion of a low-neck bodice she was to have 


286 fani^y’s faithful warning. 

made, while to Fanny’s mind occurred the in- 
spired words, “Let thy heart cheer thee in 
the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways 
of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes ; 
but know thou, that for all these things God 
wiU bring thee into judgment.” 


CHAPTEE XXVn. 


THE STEANGB MISTAKE. 

T was a sad disappointment to onr 
young friend when Mr. Sheldon’s leave 

f of absence was by vote of the church, 
prolonged to a year; but in the con- 
stant exercise of her duties, the time 
seemed to fly on wings, and now only a month 
must elapse before he was expected home. 
Beside the letters to the church which at reg- 
ular intervals he had sent, Fanny had of late 
received quite a treasure in the way of coitcs- 
pondence. He had begun a private journal, 
he told her, for her especial benefit, and one 
sentence in his last, wherein he connected her 
with himself in all his plans for the benefit of 
his people, caused a thrill of happiness thr( ugh 
her whole frame. 



288 


THE STEANGE MIISTAKE. 


Just at this time she received a letter from 
Mary Hamilton, containing a pressing invita- 
tion for her to come to Philadelphia, and re- 
mam until after her own marriage which was 
appointed to take place as soon as her brother- 
in-law reached the country. 

“ I own,” she added at the dose, “ that I 
am somewhat selfish in my invitation, for be- 
side the pleasure of your company, I hope to 
reap some benefit from your taste and skill in 
my bridal preparations. Enclosed you will 
find a bill of twenty dollars to pay the ex- 
penses of the journey.” 

One week later Fanny sat with her kind 
friends, Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, in their 
home in Philadelphia, listening to Emma Ham- 
ilton, who with burning cheeks was reading a 
letter just arrived from Mr. Sheldon. He 
thought it would be safe for him to promise, 
that by the blessing of Gk)d, he would be with 
them at Christmas, now only three weeks dis- 
tant, when he should be most happy to assist 


Tm'S SISTER. 


289 


in joining Mary Hamilton and Edwin Fearing 
in the holy bands they contemplated. 

Though Fanny was well aware that Miss 
Hamilton was impulsive and enthusiastic, yet 
this did not wholly account for the fervor with 
which she suddenly caught up and pressed 
little Emma to her breast, whispering, “ Papa 
is coming, my darling ; Papa will be here to 
see us soon.” * 

She retired to her room as soon as she could 
do so, and there unfolding the precious epistle, 
perused, for perhaps the fiftieth time, the 
words at the bottom of his last letter. “ Shall 
it not, dear Fanny, be the object of our future 
lives to labbr more earnestly for the people 
God has placed in my care? Will you not 
unite with me in carrying out the wishes of 
our departed Louisa. That this may be the 
case is the dearest earthly wish of Evarts. 
Sheldon.” 

“ Can it be ?” she asked herself, pressing her 
hands to hide her blushing cheeks, that Miss 


290 


THE STRANGE MISTAKE. 


Hamilton has given him her love unsought ; 
or have I deceived myself? A sharp pang 
shot through her as she realized the possibility 
of this. She sat a few moments reviewing 
the past, and dreaming of the future, and then 
having sought strength to meet trials, if trials 
were before her, where she had never sought 
in vain, she returned with a clear, calm brow, 
to the gToup below. 

Presently they began to discuss arrange- 
ments for the wedding, which, now that they 
might expect Evarts so soon, need not be 
longer delayed. 

There were to be four bridesmaids, “You, 
Emma, will stand first,” said the bride elect, 
“ and Evarts, of course, with you,” (casting an 
arch glance at her sister), “ unless he takes 
part in the ceremony. In that case you must 
choose somebody else for the time.” 

“I don’t see that that need make any 
difference,” answered Emma, her face glowing 
like fire, “he would leave his place to make a 


Tim’s sister. 


291 


prayer and then return to it again. It would 
be so awkward for me to stand with any body 
else.” 

Poor Fanny, who had been feeling rather 
unhappy that her name had not been even 
mentioned in Mr. Sheldon’s letter, now felt 
her heart sink within lier. She was obliged 
to summon all her pride to her aid to keep 
back the unwelcome tears. “ It must be an 
understood event that he will marry Emma,” 
she kept repeating to herself ; ‘ ‘ and I will con- 
quer my own foolish affection. How absurd I 
have been to cherish a hope that he thought 
V of me, even for a moment.” 

The next day, in the confidence of friend- 
ship, Mrs. Hamilton hinted that probably she 
should soon lose her other daughter. lYhen 
Fanny in a scarcely articulate voice inquired 
whether Mn Sheldon and Emma were engaged, 
she answered, ‘‘Oh, no ! matters have not gone 
so far as that, but his affections have become 
fixed on her, as 'you will see from this letter.” 


292 


THE STRAPS GE MISTAKE. 


She drew one from her pocket ; not the last, 
but the one before it. Near the beginning he 
said, 

‘ ‘ After being tossed about here and there for 
nearly twelve months, you can easily imagine, 
dear mother, that I am looking forward with 
great delight to being once more in my own 
SAveet home ; and, though God has been pleased 
to remove my dear Louisa to a better land, 
yet I hope he may grant me another companion 
who will be a faithful helpmeet in my sacred 
calling. I shall be favored indeed, if I can 
continue my dear child in the care of one who 
was so beloved by her deceased mother.” 

Mrs. Hamilton, as with glasses carefully 
arranged, she slowly perused the remaining 
sheet, little imagined the conflict of feeling in 
her apparently calm companion. Not one 
word more did Fanny hear. The description 
of some scenes he had witnessed were nothing 
compared to the settlement of the questions 
Avhich Avero rushing through her minf . ‘ ‘ May 


Tim’s sister. 


293 


not Emma be deceived in thinking he refers 
to her? Was not I beloved by her mother? 
Oh, how foolishly fond my heart is ! ” 

It was well for Fanny that she had early 
learned self-control, for the trial she under- 
went for the next few days was almost more 
than she could endure. By the family, con- 
stant allusions were made to the preparations 
which would so soon be necessary for Emma, 
and the young dress-maker was urged to con- 
sent to remain until after the second wedding, 
which she could see was peculiarly acceptable 
to the parents. Then the little Emma who 
had • begun to attach herself strongly to her 
old friend, was fondled and caressed by her 
aunt in such a way that no doubt could be 
formed that the child was loved for her fath- 
er’s sake as well as her own. 

On the fourth day after her arrival in Phil- 
adelphia, when Mr. Hamilton came home to 
dinner he tossed a letter, post-marked N — , 
into Fanny’s empty plate. 


294 


THE STRANGE MISTAKE. 


Little imagining what that thin envelope 
contained, she ate her dinner calmly, and then 
excusing herself, ran to her chamber to read. 
Wondering who could have written so soon, 
she carelessly tore off the cover, when the 
sight of a foreign post-mark made her heart 
beat wildly. The letter had been sent by the 
same vessel as that to Mrs. Hamilton, but had 
been directed to N — , and was there re-mailed. 
Before she had read many lines Fanny lay 
down the paper to thank Grod. Her doubts 
were all at an end now. She need no longer 
restrain the warm impulses of her loving 
heart. In the most explicit terms Mr. Shel- 
don avowed his attachment, and asked her to 
share the place in his home and in his heart 
made vacant by Louisa’s death. 

“ Why, Fanny, what has come over you?” 
exclaimed Emma Hamilton, as the young girl, 
her countenance radiant with happiness, sprang 
across the room to her customary seat by the 
window. 


TUVl’S SISTER. 


295 


Fanny smiled, as she quickly cast down her 
eyes. 

‘ ‘ She’s had a letter, and perhaps it contain- 
ed some tender lines,” added Mary, with an 
arch glance at the blushing face before her. 

‘ ‘ Shall I tell them ? ” queried Fanny with 
herself. “ Oh, no, I can’t ! Not yet ! ” and 
so she smiled on, and said nothing. 

Preparations for the wedding were now 
hurried on apace, as only one week remained 
before Christmas. Twice Fanny felt that 
duty to her friends demanded of her an ex- 
planation of her happiness u]3on which they 
often commented ;-T-Once, when the question 
was under discussion whether Mary should 
board at home Mr. Fearing had been disap- 
pointed in arrangements he supposed com- 
pleted, and a proposition was made by Mr. 
Hamilton that they should constitute one 
family. 

“If Emma is to go to N — ,” said Mary 
earnestly, “ I should feel very much happier 


296 


THE STRANGE MISTAKE, 


to be here, than to know that you and mother 
were alone.” 

Poor Fanny pressed her hands tightly to- 
gether, and felt that she ought to speak, but 
to her intense relief, Mr. Hamilton replied, 
“That is all in the future. It will be time 
enough to contemplate that subject when Ev- 
arts has asked Emma to marry him.” 

“ I do think,” continued Mr. Fearing, who 
was present, “ that the gentleman might have 
been a little more explicit about his feelings. 
It would have relieved us from some embar- 
rassment.” 

Fanny stayed to hear no more. Passing 
through the hall she caught little Emma in 
her arms and carried her to her own room. 
Of late she had scarcely dared speak to the 
child, lest she should betray her own feelings ; 
and now the little girl was amazed at the con- 
duct of aunty, who kissed her and cried by 
turns. 

The second time was only two days before 


Tim’s sistek. 


Christmas, when at rather a late hour Miss 
Hamilton knocked at the door of her room, 
and finding her still up, came and whispered, 
“I must talk with somebody, Fanny; are 
you too tired ? ” 

“ Wouldn’t it be queer if I — if we should 
live in the parsonage again ? for of course I 
should want you to be with me as you were 
with Louisa.” 

To hide her painful embarrassment, poor 
Fanny held down her head, and presently 
murmured, “You are very like Louisa, as I 
first knew her.” 

“ Yes, my friends tell me so,” was the ani- 
mated reply, “and that is why — I mean, 
perhaps Evarts has noticed it, too.” 

“ Your mother read the letter to me,” said 
Fanny, at last convinced it was wrong for her 
to be silent — “ I don’t know whether I ought 
to say it ; but I think he had better not have 
written that part.” 

“Why?” cried Emma, staring at her in 
sm’prise. 


29 » 


THE STEAXGE MISTAKE. 


“ l ou know Mr. Fearing said he ought to 
have explained himself better. I think so, 
too ; or that he ought to have said nothing.” 

“Well, he will be here soon; and we all 
shall know what his intentions are ; but I don’t 
mind telling you, Fanny, that I could love 
Evarts better than any gentleman I have ever 
seen.” 

“ I hope you will be happy with whomever 
you are united, dear Emma, faltered the poor 
girl, rising to put an end to this interview. 
“ I know one thing, that you have always 
been a good friend to me, and that I love you 
dearly.” 


CHAPTER XXVin. 


VISIT TO THE PARSONAGE. 



next day was drawing to a close, 
ajid still no Evarts. But at last Mr. 
Hamilton came in from his office with 
a quick step, and seeing his little 
grand-daughter in the hall, called out 
in a cheerful voice, “Ask aunty to put on 
your best bib and tucker, Emma, for papa 
will be here presently.” 

The news soon spread through the house. 
Emma Hamilton with a heightened color, flew 
from the room to see whether all was in order 
to receive the wanderer, while poor Fanny 
scarcely conscious what she was doing, re- 
peatedly put her hand in her pocket to see 
whether it really contained the letter which 
bad given her so much joy. She longed and 


300 


VISIT TO THE PAKSONAOE. 


yet dreaded to meet Mr. Sheldon. “ Oh, 
how much I wish I had gone back to N — 
she. kept repeating to herself, ‘ ‘ but I must 
control myself, it is too late now.” 

Presently Emma Hamilton bounded into 
the room, leading her niece by the hand. She 
looked handsomer, with her sparkling eyes 
and beaming features than Fanny had ever 
seen her. 

“ Haven’t you dressed yet? ” she exclaimed, 
“ Why, the steamer arrived in New-York this 
morning, and we e:^ectEvarts every moment. 
Doesn’t the child look pretty ? ” she whispered, 
glancing toward her niece. 

“ Yes,” answered Fanny with a faint smile, 
“ and the child’s aunt, too.” 

Miss Hamilton leaned forward and kissed 
her, whispering, “ I wish you felt as happy 
as I do.” 

Ten minutes more, and our young friend 
having earnestly sought the blessing of her 
heavenly Father upon the coming interview, 


TEVI’S SISTEK. 


301 


started to go below, when she heard the outer 
door open, and the sound of many voices an- 
nouncing ‘ ‘ Evarts has come ! ” Trembling 
so much she could hardly stand, she heard the 
welcome, the earnest salutation of the travel- 
ler, the joyful shout of little Emma, even the 
laughing remark of Miss Hamilton, “ Why, 
Evarts, you are brown as an Arab,” and then 
she thought they were about to enter the 
parlor. But presently the mother’s familiar 
voice asked, “Where’s Miss Bay? She ought 
to be here to welcome you.” 

‘ ‘ Eanny Bay ? Is Fanny here ? ” cried Mr. 
Sheldon, in an excited tone. “Where is 
she?” 

Before any one could answer, h e bounded 
up the stairs. He paused before her for one 
earnest glance into her eyes, said softly as he 
held her hand, “ Is this to be mine, Fanny?” 
then as he caught the whispered word, “Yes,” 
he pressed her for one moment to his heart, 
and then hurried her below. Leading her di- 


302 


VISIT TO THE PAKSONAGE. 


rectly to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, he said, in 
an impassioned tone, “ Here is the wife I have 
chosen to succeed your departed daughter, 
one whom my precious Louisa loved, and 
with her dying breath commended to my af- 
fection.” 

Poor Fanny dared not raise her eyes. For 
one moment there was a solemn silence, and 
then Mrs. Hamilton drew the trembling girl 
to her side and kissed her, while Mr. Hamil- 
ton said softly, “You have chosen wisely; 
and that God will bless you in your union I 
have no doubt.” 

In the excitement of her own feelings it was 
sometime before the young girl noticed that 
neither Emma Hamilton nor her sister were 
present. 

“I must explain to. them,” was her first 
thought, and she was hastily leaving the room 
for that purpose, when she saw Mr. Fearing 
standing near the door regarding her with a 
most amazed glance. 


Tim’s sister. 


303 


“You have kept your secret well, Miss 
Ray,” he said quietly, as she quickly passed. 

She found Mary Hamilton knocking at her 
sister’s door. It was locked, however, and 
no answer was returned. 

“ Oh, Fanny !” she cried, “ Do you think 
ydu have done quite as you would be done 
by ! Only think what a terrible mortification 
this will be to poor Emma.” 

In return, Fanny drew her into her own 
room, and there stated that she had herself 
first become aware of Mr. Sheldon’s wish by 
a letter received since she came to them. That 
even then she had given him no answer, and 
that when on several occasions she had felt it 
to be her duty to speak, her courage had ab- 
solutely failed. 

“ Plead my cause with dear Emma,” she 
exclaimed tearfully, “ for it would be hard 
indeed to lose her friendship. Tell her that 
the secret, if such she calls it, shall be forever 
confined to my own breast.” 


304 


VISIT TO THE PAKSONAGE. 


To Mrs. Hamilton alone did she communi- 
cate the fact, that only a few hours before her 
death, Mrs. Sheldon had tried to win a prom- 
ise from her that if Evarts asked her hand she 
would give it to him ; hut that she had beg- 
ged her dying friend to trust her husband and 
child^ in the hands of a merciful Father who 
would surely provide for them. 

Now, dear reader, we must pass over several 
months, and once more visit the pleasant par- 
sonage. A bright wood-fire is burning in the 
grate, and before it are seated Mr. Sheldon, 
his mother-in-law, Mrs. Hamilton, and his 
sister. Miss Emma, holding her namesake in 
her lap. Mrs. Sheldon had just left the room, 
ancl the old lady who with her daughter had 
just arrived from Philadelphia, says warmly, 
“ I see Fanny has made no change here.” 

“ No,” he responded, “ It is her delight to 
do what Louisa would have wished. Even in 
so small a matter as the selection of a dress 


Tm’S SISTER. 


305 


for Emma, she deferred to Louisa’s taste, say- 
ing with a smile, ‘ that was one of the fe^^ 
subjects on which we differed. She jjreferred 
pink and I preferred blue, so pink Emma’s 
frock must be.’ ” 

Louisa chose wisely for you,” remarked 
Miss Hamilton, looking up without a blush. 

“ Every day convinces me of that,” he re- 
sponded, ‘ ‘ and I thank the Lord that he in- 
clined my heart toward one whom she so fully 
.approved. I was amazed on my return to 
find what an influence she had acquired among 
m}^ people. It gave them real pleasure when 
I brought her to the parsonage.” 

“ To what particularly do you ascribe this 
influence ? ” inquired his mother. 

“ To her consistent Christian character. 
One gentleman, Mr. Thomas, who has recent- 
ly made a profession of religion, told me that 
in the course of his life many persons have 
talked with him on the subject of religion ; but 
he had always been able to pick some flaws in 


306 


VISIT TO THE PAKSONAGE. 


their own conduct, some inconsistency be- 
tween their profession and practice which 
seived as a quietus to his own conscience ; 
but when, as he quaintly expressed it, ‘ Miss 
Eaj!' that was, began to probe me as to my 
depravity, and then without mercy hammered 
the truth into my awakened soul, I could but 
acknowledge that in her own life she exempli- 
fied the doctrines she professed to love. And 
when on a later occasion she found me still 
harping on my favorite theme, the faults of 
Christians, she said, in her calm, earnest tone, 
‘ If they then are Imt scarcely saved, who are 
struggling against indwelling sin, how can 
you expect to enter heaven, who constantly 
resist the Spirit of God ; who fight against 
the influence of your godly mother’s prayers, 
the example of your lovely wife, and the 
stings of your o^vn conscience ? ’ 

“ These were home trusts that I could net 
parry off, lor quiet and gentle as she appears 
she handles a sinner without gloves.” 


TDl’S SISTJ]E. 


307 


“ I should scarcely have believed her to be 
so courageous,” said Miss Hamilton; “she 
seems so very humble.” 

Fanny at this moment opened the door, and 
said, with a smile, “ I am sure you will feel 
refreshed hy your tea, which I have made 
earlier than usual.” . 

“ But you ai’e not alone ? Where is Ann ?” 
were the earnest inquiries. 

“ Only for a few days,” was the cheerful 
reply. 

“ Ann has got a darling little baby,” ex- 
claimed Emma Sheldon ; ‘ ‘ and she’s going to 
ask the lady, to let her bring it to me.” 

“ Let me explain,” said Mr. Sheldon, after 
they were seated at the table ; “ while I was 
abroad, Ann lived in Mr. Alger’s family. She 
is now very ill, and her infant daughter, only 
a few weeks old, was greatly in need of care. 
Fanny learned the circumstance, and at once 
offered to let Ann go to their aid, until some 
regular nurse could be procured.” 


308 


VISIT TO THE PARSONAGE. 


“ Will the lady recover?” inquired Miss 
Hamilton. 

“ That is still very douhtM. Her’s is an 
interesting case ; you must get Fanny to re- 
late it to you. Mr. and Mrs. Alger are her 
parishioners, for they do not go to my church ; 
indeed, when they were inclined to do so,” he 
added with a smile, “ she advised them to 
make no change.” 

“ That was rather disloyal. Wasn’t it, 
Fanny?” 

“ She was already a member of an Evan- 
gelical church,” was the quiet reply, and I 
thought it his duty to remain there. Evarts 
fully coincided in the opinion.” 

I used occasionally to work in the family, 
cutting dresses for the lady, who was not only 
a great invalid, but much oppressed with 
melancholy. The husband was an overbear- 
ing man, whose whole aTection seemed cen- 
tred in his two boys. I have heard that 
he was quite gifted in prayer, and that 


Tim’s sister. 


309 


he was very active, not only in the church 
business, but in the conference meetings. 
Lately he has fallen into a state of depression, 
indeed he fears he has committed the unpar- 
donable sin. I don’t know how he will endure 
the affliction in store for him? ” 

The next morning, while the family at the 
parsonage were seated at breakfast, Ann’s face 
appeared at the door. She was pale and 
trembling with excitement. Mrs. Sheldon 
hastily excusing herself from her guests, rose 
and left the room. 

Ann threw her apron oyer her face, and 
with a burst of tears, exclaimed, “Oh, Mrs. 
Sheldon, I know ’tisn’t right for me to call 
you away, but Mrs. Alger’s dying, and she 
does want to see you, to — ” 

“ I’ll go at once,” was the instant reply. 

“I’ll take care of every thing at home,” 
exclaimed Emma, who had followed to the 
door. 

“ Are you able?” said the pastor, grasping 


310 


VISIT TO THE PARSONAGE. 


warmly his wife’s hand ; “It will be a trying 
scene.” 

She bowed, but could not speak. 

He accompanied her to the gate. “ God’s 
blessing go with you, my dear Fanny,” he 
said softly ; ‘ ‘ and may you be the means of 
directing the dying soul to Christ ! Send at 
once, if you think my presence desirable.” 

“ Pray for me,” was her only response. 


CHAPTER XXVn. 


CONCLUSION 



NTO the same apartment where Fanny 
had first met Mrs. Alger, Ann, weeping 


bitterly, now softly ushered her. Near 


the bed, with his back toward the door. 


o stood the once haughty, overbearing 
man. His head was bowed on his breast, while 
he listened to the dying words of one he had 
sworn to cherish and love, but toward whom 
he had for years manifested indifference and 
contempt. 

“ She is a tender flower,” murmured the 
low voice ; ‘ ‘ one that I would have cherished 
fondly. Will you name her, Annie, and love 
her as you once loved her poor mother ? I 
hope, Meriam and Jonas, you will be kind to 
your little sister, if God should spare her life ; 


312 


CONCLUSION. 


and that you will be good boys and prepare 
to meet me in heaven.” 

She stopped, as if exhausted, when per- 
ceiving that Mrs. Sheldon was in the room, a 
smile lighted up her countenance. The lady 
approached, and stood opposite Mr. Alger, 
whose form seemed to writhe in his agony. 

Bending over the bed, Fanny kissed that 
pale check; “I did not think you were so 
soon to leave us,” she said, forcing herself to 
speak calmly. 

“Yes, my hour has come to die ; but I do 
not find it dreadful as I once feared. I have 
peace here,” she said, putting her hand feebly 
on her heart. “ Christ is very precious.” 

Tears gushed from Fanny’s eyes, while with 
a groan of anguish, the conscience-stricken 
husband rushed from the room. 

The dying woman gazed after him with a 
look of tenderness. “ Pray for him, dear 
Mrs. Sheldon, when I am goncj” Jlie said 
softly; “pray that he may find peace as I 


TIM’^ S18TEK. 


313 


have, in laying my burden on Christ. Tell 
him how I have loved him, and that if there 
was ever any harshness, it is all forgotten 
now. Tell him, I wish I had been a better 
wife to him, and a better mother to my chil- 
dren.” 

“Stop — oh, stop, Martha!” cried Mr. 
Alger, coming forward and thi’owing himself 
on his knees by the side of the bed. “ Stop, 
if you do not wish to kill me ; I am a poor 
hypocrite, who have crushed you to death. I 
have professed religion and never possessed 
it. My life has been thrown away; aye, 
worse, it is the thought of my ‘wicked, wasted 
life that will prove the undying worm to my 
soul throughout all eternity. You say you 
can forgive me, who promised to make you 
happy, but have embittered your whole life. 
Yes, it is easy for you who are just about to 
enter heaven to say that ; but oh, the sharp 
tooth of remorse has begun to pierce my 
soul I Never ; no, never can I say I forgive 
myself. Never will God forgive me.” 


314 


C02^CLUSI0^ . 


He wiped the great drops of perspiration 
from his face. “ Before you die, I must tell 
you, Martha, that I have deceived myself. I 
verily thought I was serving God when I was 
pandering to my own lusts, to my pride, and 
ambition ; but though I exhorted others, and 
was otten in public prayer, I could not talk to 
you and endeavor to lead you to Christ. I 
knew that I did not bring my religion into my 
family as I ought, but oh ! I did think I was a 
Christian ! Believe me, Martha, I did not 
wilfully leave you to grope your w^ay in dark- 
ness ; and there have been times when I 
would gladly have talked with you of your 
salvation, but I was ashamed to do so ; and 
of late I have felt that I had no right, that I 
was not worthy to take his name on my lips. 
She put her hand caressingly on his face, 
“ Dear husband,” she murmured, “ I would 
like to live with you and our dear children ; 
but my Saviour is calling me home. We are 
not parting forever ; through his love we will 
meet again never more to part.” 


TIM'S SISTER. 


315 


“ Oh, Martha, Martha, how happy I might 
have made you ! Oh, my ungovernable, my 
passionate temper ! Oh, my self-deluded soul 1 
Oh, these dreadful stings of remorse!” he 
groaned aloud, and hid his face in the pillow. 

Mrs. Sheldon bathed the forehead of the 
dying woman. Presently she saw that a 
change had passed over the features. Quick- 
ly she approached the bowed form, and gently 
touching his shoulder, pointed to the fixed 
eyes. 

He sprang upon his feet, and bending over 
her, in a passion of grief exclaimed, “Martha, 
my poor abused wife, say once more that you 
forgive me ; that you forgive me for the death 
of our child.” 

It was too late ; those eyes so lately beam- 
ing upon him with the tenderness of returning 
afiection, were now covered with a glassy film ; 
that voice which had once and again assured 
him that her life-long wrongs were all forgot- 
ten, was silent now and would silent be for- 


ever more. 


316 


CONCLUSION. 


Three days later when Mrs. Sheldon with 
her husband attended the funeral, she was 
shocked at the change in his appearance. His 
face was haggard and ghastly pale, while his 
eyes were wild and bloodshot. Not a tear 
moistened his burning eyeballs while the cler- 
gyman read words of comfort to the afflicted, 
and besought strength and support for the 
mourner in his hour of sorrow. He sat with 
his head bent listlessly as if he wxre crushed 
with grief, taking no notice either of his 
motherless boys, or of the many friends who 
afterwards pressed about him. 

Instead of following the procession to the 
cemetery, Fanny had promised to take charge 
of the motherless babe, and there Mr. Alger 
found her on his return. * 

Softly she arose when he had seated him- 
self, and laying the sleeping infant in his arms, 
said, “For her sake you must cherish this 
little treasure ; and for her sake too, accept 
the love which Christ is now offering you, 


TBi’S SISTER. 


317 


the love that made her dying hour so full of 
peace.” 

And she went out leaving him to commune 
with his own heart, and with his God. 

One scene more, dear reader, and I have 
done. 

It was a dull and cheerless morning, nearly 
a year later, when the wife of the pastor was 
summoned to the residence of Mrs. Scott. 
She found the lady seated in an arm-chair, in 
front of the fire, a large shawl folded closely 
about her figure. Her rich, abundant hair 
was drawn back under a mourning cap, and 
every article of dress betokened that sorrow 
had come to the home and the heart of the 
bowed woman sitting there. 

Yes, Marion, the bright, beautiful Marion, 
was lying in the tomb, and the mother’s heart 
was heavy with the weight of her grief. In 
her hours of prosperity she had not sought 
God, and now she was left to bear her sorrow 


318 


CONCLUSION. 


alone. Though she had early professed to 
love Christ, yet by her pride, her worldliness, 
her indifference to his cause, she had greatly 
dishonored him. The sudden death of her 
only child had opened her eyes to the folly of 
expecting happiness from the richness of her 
attire, or from the society of her fashionable 
friends. She determined to win heaven by 
the strictness of her seclusion from the world, 
and by the mortification of her own spirit. 

She had advanced as she supposed, rapidly 
in the road to eternal bliss, when she invited 
Mrs. Sheldon to visit her. 

“ You find me much changed,” she said, 
greeting Fanny with a sad smile. “ The 
world for me has lost its charm. I only wish 
to live long enough to prepare to follow my 
lost Marion to heaven.” 

Fanny’s eyes kindled with pleasure. “ Dear 
Mrs. Scott,” she said warmly, “ affliction has 
indeed been blessed to you, if you can say 
that.” 


Tim’s sister. 


319 


, “ Yes,” added Mrs. Scott, with a self-com- 

placent air, “ I have lived to see the vanities 
of the world fade into smoke. Let my stay 
here be longer or shorter, I shall never enter 
upon them nor enjoy them more. 

The tone of voice and the manner puzzled 
Fanny more than the words. After a mo- 
ment’s silence she said, with a smile, “ I re- 
member when I was a child my gi-and-mother 
taught me the ‘ Assembly’s Catechism.’ The 
first answer was, ‘ Man’s chief end is to glo- 
rify God and to enjoy him forever.’ I have 
often thought of it since, when I have heard 
people talk about their own salvation as being 
the great aim and object of life. I suppose 
above every thing else we ought to desire to 
glorify God ; then our owm bliss in heaven in 
bis presence would be sure.” 

“ I am sure,” returned the lady in rather a 
vexed tone, ‘‘I^ave endured trial and mor- 
tification enough in this life, I ought to be 
happy hereafter. As for this talk of many 


320 


CONCLUSION. 


who call themselves Christians, about the joy 
they have in their religion, I never had any 
thing of it, and never believed it to be any 
thing but talk. I have been in the church al- 
most twenty years, and 1 ought to know. 

“ Dear Mrs. Scott, j)ardon my frankness,’* 
said Fanny with a sigh. “ If you really know 
nothing of the peace which comes to a believ- 
er when he has given himself up into the hands 
of his God, trusting in Christ alone for salva- 
tion, I fear you are like the man who built 
his house upon the sand. I fear you have 
placed too much dependence on the mere form 
of professing Christ, without having felt his 
love in your heart. Believe me the storms 
will come and dash to pieces the expectations 
of all who have not founded their hope on the 
rock Christ Jesus.” The apostle Paul telk 
us, ‘ for other foundation can no man lay 
than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ.’ ” 

Before Mrs. Sheldon had finished, Mrs. 
Scott arose and rang the chamber bell. 


Tm'S SISTER. 


321 


>) 


“ Bring some more wood,” she said, ‘‘ to 
make a bright blaze, I expect Mr. Scott in 
presently.” 

“ I should be happy to have you or your 
husband call when convenient,” she added, as 
Fanny rose to leave. “You and I never did 
agree on the subject of religion, and we had 
better avoid it in future.” 

And now, reader, that I have finished this 
narrative of one who years since entered upon 
her eternal rest, will you not lay the truths I 
have, however imperfectly, set forth to heart. 
If you have professed the name of Christ, will 
you not endeavor to honor him in your life 
and conversation ; and so to walk that those 
around you may be won to the service and 
enjoyment of the Saviour. 


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truth, and clothed in beautiful imagery, Illus 25 

, LEONARD DOBBIN, or the One Moss Rose. Illus.. 25 
KITTY’S KNITTING-NEEDLES. A book for girls. 

Illus 25 

THE FOX HUNTER. A work of unspeakable value 

to disciples. By Dr. Malan 25 

NED, THE SHEPHERD BOY, changed to the Y'oung 

Christian. Illus 2C 

WILLIE AND CHARLIE, or the Way to be happy. 

Illus 25 

JANE THORNE, or the Head and the Heart. Illus. . 25 

JENNIE CARTER, or Trust in God. By Catherine 
D. Bell. Illus 25 

PHILIP AND BESSIE, or Wisdom’s Way. Illus .... 25 

THE SAB3ATF SCHOOL CONCERT, or Children’s 
Meeting. Its History, Advantages, and Abuses’ 

with approved mode of conducting it 25 

LEAVING HOME. By the author of Capt. Russel’s 
Watchword, Ellen Dacre, Old Red House, Blind 
Ethan, etc. Illus . 25 

LI .JB I I ' The Ragged Urchin, and under 
wh Teachings he was Reclaimed from the Street. 

Idas 25 


10 CATALOGUE OF LOOKS. 


THE BELIEVING TRADESMAN, an authentic story, 
and a wonderful illustration of the power of faith 
It has few parallels in history. IRus *3 

THE SUNDAY EXCURSION, and what came of it. A 
timely work. Ulus 25 

BLIND ETHAN. By the author of Capt, Russel’s 
Watchword. Ulus 23 

ROBERT RAIKES, the founder of Sabbath Schools. 

By Rev. Dr. Cornell. An entirely new and original 

w’ork. Elegantly illustrated 23 

SONGS FOR THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AND VES- 
TRY 25 

BENNY’S BIRDS. Ulus...*. 25 

STOLEN GOLD PIECE. Ulus 25 

ALICE FIELD. Ulus 25 

SEALING THE SPIRIT 20 

THE REMEMBERED PRAYER. A charming juve- 
nile. Ulus 20 

SHIPS IN THE IVnST. Bj" the author of Similitudes, 
etc. Ulus 20 

L.\ZY STllPHEN, and what made him a valuable 
Man. Ulus 20 

THE LOST HALF CROWN. A charming juvenile. 
Fully illustrated 20 

TOM MATHER AND THE LOST PURSE. Reveal- 
ing 1(he Workings of Conscience in a Little Boy’s 
mind. Ulus 


20 


' |*V 


CATALOGUE OF BOOKS. 1 1 

JESSIE AT THE SPRING, and Other Stories. De- 
signed for children and youth SO 


THE LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER’S DAUGHTER. A 
charming example of Christian faith in a child. Ill 20 
WILLIE WILSON. A dear child was Willie. The 
story and its associations speak for themselves. Ill 20 
THE YOUNG RECRUITING SERGEANT. The mind 
of a little child sometimes exercises a potential in- 


fluence over that of an adult. Ulus 20 

YES AND NO. Two very hard words to speak in 

the light of a temptation. Ulus 20 

TOM BRIAN IN TROUBLE Much easier is it to 
get out of it. This story is a practical commentary 

on a great truth. Ulus 23 

DREAMING AND DOING, and Other Stories. Great 

truths in life experiences. Ulus 20 

SANCTIFICATION. By Rev. J. Q. Adams 20 

THE HANDCUFFS, or the Deserter. Ulus • 15 

THE LUI^ATIC AND HIS KEEFER, and other narra- 
tives. Ulus 13 

MUST I NOT STRIVE ? or the Poor Man’s Dinner. 

Ulus 15 

THE LOST TICKET, or Is your Life Insured ? Ulus. 1 5 

THE CHILD ANGEL. Ulus 15 

THE DREAM OF HEAVEN. A narrative work of 
touching interest. Tenth thousand 15 

SUNSHINE FOR HUMAN HEARTS 15 





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